Page 15 of Mrs. Pandey
I stood there, the clipboard forgotten in my hand, watching his retreating figure until he disappeared around the corner of the barracks. The golden light of the setting sun faded, replaced by the bruised purples and deep oranges of twilight.
Barmer, my quiet, predictable sanctuary, had just become a battlefield. And the war had just begun.
The desert wind howled through the dunes, sharp and cold despite the day's lingering heat. Visibility was terrible; moonlight barely cut through the hazy darkness, making the uneven ground a maze of distorted shadows. Our three-vehicle convoy crept along a dirt trail, headlights dimmed to mere glows, trying to stay hidden. The night was eerily silent, too silent for my comfort. Every instinct screamed that something was wrong.
I sat in the passenger seat of the lead Gypsy, my eyes constantly sweeping the ridge lines, my finger resting on the trigger guard of my INSAS rifle. Every muscle in my body was tight, alert, and focused, except the one in my chest. That one wouldn't stop pounding, a relentless beat, because Captain Prashant Pandey was sitting right beside me.
He wasn't in a different vehicle, safely commanding from a distance. No, he had insisted on leading the patrol from the very front, right here. It was so typical of him. He always had to be in the thick of it, had to be the one taking the most direct risk. A part of me, the soldier part, grudgingly respected that. The other part, the part that was still a raw wound, just hated it.
He hadn't said a word since we had left the office an hour ago. Just the occasional crisp radio check-in, sharp hand gestures to the driver, and his usual brooding silence. That silence was something I knew well, a vast, complex space I used to navigate with ease. Now, it felt like a wall between us.
I hated how well I still remembered his scent, even under the camouflage of his uniform. That sharp, clean mix of body wash and gun oil, mingled with the dry earth that seemed to cling to everything out here. It was a scent that used to feel like home, and now it was a constant, unwelcome reminder. I hated that my throat tightened every time our arms accidentally brushed, a fleeting contact that sent a jolt right through me, a ghost of touches I tried desperately to forget.
"Movement ahead. North ridge. Check," the radio crackled from the rear unit, pulling me back to the immediate danger.
Prashant instantly grabbed his binoculars, his voice low and calm. "'Visual?'"
"Negative, sir. It might be livestock or a decoy." The static on the other end was a harsh sound, adding to the tension building in the air.
He turned his head slightly toward me, his hazel eyes meeting mine. "'We go on foot from here. Take two men and circle west.' His command was precise and unquestioning."
I nodded, already reaching for the door handle. I finally got something to focus on besides the man next to me. I swung the door open, ready to get out and lead my team.
But then, he grabbed my wrist.
My head snapped toward him, my eyes flaring in surprise and a surge of anger. His grip wasn't tight, not enough to bruise, but it was firm, and it sent a familiar jolt through me anyway. That same electric current that used to make me melt now made me stiffen.
"I'll go with you," he said, his voice quiet, leaving no room for argument."
"I don't need..." I started to retort, my voice sharp. The last thing I needed was him shadowing me, breathing down my neck, and reminding me of a past I was trying to bury under miles of sand.
"It's not about need, Lieutenant. It's protocol." His voice had that unshakable tone that meant the discussion was over. He was the Captain, and I was the Lieutenant, simple as that."
I bit back the scathing remark that was forming on my tongue, giving him a curt, unwilling nod. Two soldiers from our vehicle quickly followed our lead as we slipped out into the darkness, our boots crunching softly over gravel and dry twigs. The desert seemed to hold its breath, every shadow a potential threat.
We moved stealthily, using the low dunes and sparse scrub for cover. The cold wind bit at my exposed skin, but I barely felt it. My senses were heightened, straining to pick up any unusual sound, any hint of danger. As we crouched behind a particularly low dune, scanning the terrain with our night vision scopes, I finally allowed myself to whisper, the words barely audible over the wind. "This still your idea of command? Breach protocol just to keep your ego intact?" The bitterness in my voice was hard to control.
He didn't look at me, his gaze still fixed on the shifting sands through his scope. "No,' he replied, his voice equally low. "Just don't like letting someone else walk into an ambush I might've prevented."
"You never trusted my instincts before," I said, the old wound resurfacing.
He finally lowered his scope just for a moment and turned his head slightly. His eyes found mine in the dim green glow of the night vision. "I never trusted you and will never trust you," he replied, his voice rough.
My throat tightened, a sudden, unexpected ache. The words hit me harder than any bullet, stripping away my defenses. He never trusted me. And what was I supposed to expect from him after breaking his heart? I said nothing, couldn't say anything; the moment was too fragile.
Suddenly, we heard a rustle from the east.
Both of us froze, our bodies tensing instantly. Our rifles rose in unison, scopes sweeping the area. All thoughts of the past vanished, replaced by the stark reality of the present threat.
A figure appeared, blurred through my scope. It was small, hunched. My heart hammered, preparing for the worst. Then, as it came closer, the shape resolved: a shepherd boy, no more than twelve years old, holding a small flashlight. He was dragging a limp goat behind him, its legs splayed uselessly.
It was a false alarm. My entire body sagged with the sudden release of tension. I exhaled slowly, my pulse gradually returning to a more normal rhythm.
But Prashant didn't lower his weapon. Not until the boy had fully disappeared over the hill, a small, innocent figure melting into the vast, indifferent desert. Only then did he let his rifle drop slightly.
He turned to me then, his eyes searching mine, his voice still a whisper, but laced with a concern that caught me off guard. "You alright?"
I blinked, taken aback by the question, by the genuine worry in his tone. "Yes," I managed to say, but my voice cracked, a tiny betraying sound that escaped before I could control it.
