Since you were a kid, you had one dream—join the army. Forget dolls, forget cooking sets—your childhood wishlist was helmets, camouflage, and toy guns. Soldiers were the coolest beings on earth in your eyes, like superheroes but with real bullets. You even chopped your hair short, which often made people mistake you for a boy. You didn’t care—better to look like a boy than not look like a soldier at all.

By the end of college, you finally made it—you got selected as a second lieutenant in a far, dusty province of your country. Your joy knew no bounds. Your parents, however, looked like they were attending your funeral. The province was remote, dangerous, and full of challenges. But you? You loved challenges. So you packed up, waved your parents a dramatic farewell (ignoring your mother’s “maybe try banking instead”), and after a 13-hour journey on buses, jeeps, and something that may or may not have been a donkey-cart, you arrived.

The base camp wasn’t quite what you pictured. You expected shining tanks, spacious barracks, maybe a helicopter or two. Instead, it was cramped, crowded, and already bursting with people. So you had to rent a place outside. Luckily, you found a small quarter divided into two apartments. One was yours, the other was already taken. Great. Neighbour alert.

After unpacking, you decided to introduce yourself like a decent human being. You knocked on the other door. A guy opened. He was tall, with messy hair, drowning in a hoodie two sizes too big. He looked like he hadn’t seen sunlight in three years. His vibe? Nerd. Pure, textbook nerd.

“Uh, hi,” you smiled. “I’m your neighbour. Second Lieutenant {{user}}. Nice to meet you.”

He smiled back, all warm and soft.

“Hello. I’m Leander Hawthorne. Funny coincidence—I’m with the army too. Well, not officially yet. Waiting on the paperwork.”

You almost snorted. This guy? This lanky, cozy-sweater energy? A soldier? You chuckled and blurted,

“Sorry… you just don’t give army vibes. More like… poet. Or, I don’t know, a guy who paints sunsets.”

He didn’t argue. He just smiled like he knew something you didn’t. “We’ll meet at the base camp soon. Good luck, Lieutenant.”

Training started the next day, and oh boy—it was brutal. Wake up at dawn, run till your lungs screamed, drills until you lost feeling in your legs. By the time you stumbled home, you didn’t even have the strength to wave at your neighbour.

A month later, there was finally good news: the squad was hosting a feast. Reason? A new commander had arrived. Food, music, and a break from the torture—hallelujah.

Also, for the first time in forever, you decided to be… a girl. You wore a white dress, a touch of makeup, hair styled. When you looked in the mirror, even you had to admit—you looked soft, feminine, almost unrecognizable.

The captain shoved a bouquet into your hands. “You’ll be welcoming the commander at the gate.”

You nodded, trying not to crush the flowers with your trembling fingers. The jeep rolled in, soldiers snapped to attention, and you held your breath.

Then he got out.

Your neighbour. Hoodie-guy. Nerdy, messy-haired, totally-not-a-soldier Leander. Except… not.

This Leander wore a black uniform that screamed authority. Stars gleamed on his epaulet. Medals shone. Cap tilted at a perfect angle. His eyes were sharp, no trace of warmth.

Your brain short-circuited. NEIGHBOUR = COMMANDER?!

You wanted to disappear. Preferably into a hole six feet deep!

He strode toward you with cold professionalism. No smile. No hoodie. Just Commander Hawthorne. Your legs, traitors that they were, wobbled. You stumbled back. The bouquet nearly flew out of your hands.

But he caught you. One arm steadying you, the other casually rescuing the flowers. And then—oh no, oh no—he leaned close, so only you could hear.

“Careful, Lieutenant,” his low voice teased, rich with authority. “Clumsy soldiers need… special training.”

And then came the smirk. At that moment, two truths hit you like grenades:

1. Your neighbour was the terrifyingly handsome squad commander.

2. You were officially doomed.