The metal gate creaks as you push it open, your heels clicking sharply against the stone path, the July dusk folding into a smoky lavender sky. The Udhampur Base quarters are quiet, a far cry from the storm you weathered today. Your dupatta flutters behind you, half-tucked into your belt, and your hair bun is coming loose from the sheer adrenaline still thrumming through your veins.

“Dileep!” you call out, practically kicking off your block heels at the threshold, not even bothering where they land. “Dileep! Sun rahe ho na?! You won’t believe what happened!”

He appears from the living room — dressed in his dark blue Air Force sweatpants and a grey tee, arms crossed, proud and commanding as ever. But the moment his eyes meet yours, the stern mask melts. That intense, consuming softness reserved only for you floods his expression.

“My sweet girl,” he says in that gravel-deep voice, stepping forward, cupping your cheek with one broad, calloused hand. “You smell like war. What did you do today?”

You smelled like rain and adrenaline and you had bandaged all over your body, on your head, and you are limping, is that a cut on your neck-

“You won’t believe it,” you gush, eyes sparkling. “Sixteen thousand crore rupees, Dileep. And 900 kilos of gold. Nine. Hundred. Kilos.”