Page 25 of Mrs. Pandey
I peeled myself out of my sweat-soaked pajamas and stepped into a warm shower. The water stung my skin like needles. Every drop was a reminder of how wrecked I felt. I dressed mechanically, fingers fumbling with buttons, belt loops, andboots. My uniform clung to my damp skin uncomfortably, but I forced myself through it.
Once I reached the camp, my condition worsened. The fever had sunk into my bones, not just surface discomfort but a roaring fire inside me, turning my limbs to lead. My vision swam as I stood stiffly outside the Medical Inspection Room, gripping the edge of a bench just to stay upright.
The RMO took one look at me and didn't even wait for me to speak. "Sit down, Lieutenant. You look like you're about to fall over."
He checked my vitals, temperature still rising, blood pressure like a malfunctioning metronome, throat raw and inflamed.
"You're running on fumes," he muttered, scribbling into his notepad. "I'm recommending 48 hours of rest. You need fluids, medication, and sleep. You're not fit for drills, lectures, or breathing near people."
I gave a weak, crooked salute. "Thank you, sir."
He handed me the leave recommendation, and I clutched it like a lifeline. But even walking felt like crossing a battlefield. My boots dragged like they were filled with gravel, every step sending jolts of pain through my legs. The sun seemed brighter than usual, burning through my pounding skull, and I winced, shielding my eyes.
And yet, I made it. To his office.
Captain Prashant Pandey.
I knocked once, barely able to lift my hand. "Enter," he barked, that same clipped voice I'd heard in every parade ground shout and training field reprimand.
He stood by the window, arms folded across his chest like he was carved from stone. His posture was stiff, unmoving. The sunlight cut across his face, highlighting that constant scowl that seemed permanently etched into his features. He turned to look at me. There was no concern, no curiosity, just judgment in his eyes.
He didn't say a word, so I walked in and held out the paper with trembling fingers. "Medical Officer has recommended sick leave, sir. I have a high 102.6 fever."
He took the paper. Read it. Folded it neatly like it was an unimportant receipt.
"You don't look that sick to me," he said flatly.
I blinked, stunned. "Sir... the doctor..."
"I read it, Lieutenant." His voice was dismissive, cold. He'd already decided he wouldn't listen.
"With due respect, sir," I said, voice low, steadying myself against the edge of a chair, "I followed protocol. You have to approve it if it's medically recommended."
"I don't have to do anything that compromises operational efficiency," he shot back. "Bravo Team is short this week. Everyone's doing double shifts, and you're not exempt."
His tone made it clear this wasn't just about protocol. This was personal.
"But I can barely stand!" My voice cracked, more in disbelief than weakness. "I'll pass out in the field."
He took a deliberate step toward me, gaze sharp as shattered glass. "Then pass out. Let the others see what happens when you put your comfort above your commitment."
I stared at him, blinking through sweat and dizziness, through the fog of fever and fury. He wasn't being strict. He was punishing me. And we both knew why.
"Is this because I disobeyed you last week?" I asked quietly, my voice trembling with restrained rage. "Because I gave a soldier water?"
A flicker of something passed through his eyes. It was not guilt, not regret, just something unreadable. Then it was gone, and he turned away.
"Dismissed, Lieutenant," he said, grabbing a file and pretending I no longer existed.
I stood there, heart hammering in my ears. My fists clenched. My whole body itched to scream, to break something, but all I did was salute sharply, spin on my heel, and walk out. Each step felt like betrayal echoing in my bones louder than the fever burning through me.
I didn't make it halfway across the courtyard.
My knees buckled. The world spun violently. I dropped to the gravel, scraping my palms, panting through gritted teeth as black spots danced in my vision. Boots thundered toward me.
"Ma'am, are you okay?" a soldier's voice asked, urgent and concerned.
I could barely nod.
