I did not expect to see her again like this.
The request from Nainital came in quietly, buried beneath routine files and low-priority alerts, but the moment I opened it, something in my chest tightened. Encrypted chatter. Transit systems. Religious disguises. Red-marked routes across hill towns that breathed peace on the surface and violence underneath. I had seen this pattern before. It never ended well. I accepted the support request without hesitation—until I read the final attachment. Delhi CBI, Special Operations: Lead Officer — Vinnie Malhotra. For a moment, I stared at the screen like it had betrayed me. I told myself it didn't matter. I told myself I was over it. I lied well. But when her convoy rolled into the valley and I saw her step out—sharp, composed, unchanged and yet completely different—I knew the past hadn't loosened its grip on either of us.
She froze when she saw me. Just for a second. Enough for me to notice. Enough for old wounds to wake up.
Then Aakrit arrived.
He wasn't assigned. Everyone knew it. He wore confidence like armor and stood too close to her on purpose, loud enough for me to hear, casual enough to provoke. When he slung an arm around her shoulder and grinned in my direction, something ugly twisted inside me. She pushed his hand away immediately, but damage didn't need time to settle. It had already landed. I said nothing. Silence is dangerous when it remembers everything.
The tension snapped later in the briefing tent. Rain battered the canvas roof, wind howled like a warning, and Aakrit kept talking—jokes dipped in implication, second chances disguised as humor. I stood before I realized I was moving. My fist connected before my mind caught up. He hit the ground hard. Soldiers rushed in. Voices rose. Someone shouted my name. I didn't care. I leaned close enough for him to hear me breathe.
"Don't use her to provoke me," I said quietly. "This isn't a game. And she isn't your proof of relevance."
The mission didn't pause for broken egos.
Explosives surfaced where prayers should've been. Tunnels hid beneath footpaths. Informants lied with trembling hands. On the outskirts of Bhimtal, a partial detonation tore through our formation. Smoke swallowed everything. Screams followed. And then I saw her fall. Shrapnel ripped through her shoulder, blood dark against her uniform. I lifted her without thinking, carried her through chaos, my voice the only thing I trusted.
"Stay with me," I kept saying. "Don't close your eyes. I'm here."
That night, as rain stitched the valley back together, I dressed her wound in silence. My hands remembered what my heart pretended to forget. She asked why I still cared. I didn't look at her when I answered.
"Because some things don't end just because we sign papers."
Between stakeouts and ambushes, something fragile resurfaced. She laughed softer now. I noticed. She watched me when she thought I wasn't looking. I noticed that too. We moved like we used to—without planning, without discussion. She drank her chai exactly how I remembered. I adjusted her coat before the cold could reach her bones. No words. Only instinct. Only history breathing between gunfire and strategy maps.
We were close to ending the case when another complication surfaced—Aakrit. His attention shifted. To Sholi.
I watched from a distance as obsession dressed itself as affection. Flowers. Waiting. Too much presence. Too little understanding. Sholi was kind, but kindness should never be mistaken for invitation. She told me everything. I told her to let him try. Not cruelty. Education. Over the next few days, he scrubbed floors, fixed taps, painted walls, mistaking exhaustion for progress and praise for promise. Karma doesn't rush. It lets people reveal themselves fully.
The case tightened. The enemy pattern emerged. The mountains held their breath.
And then, late one night, as I stood outside the command tent reviewing maps, I heard Vinnie's voice behind me—quiet, unsure, closer than it should have been.
"Amish… can we talk?"
I turned around.
And for the first time since the divorce, she didn't look like an officer asking for clearance.
She looked like my wife asking for a chance.