Hai ..

Hello ..

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Kashmir. Army Camp.

It had been exactly one month since karam  was posted to the Kashmir Regiment, serving under the Jammu and Kashmir Light Infantry (JAK LI). In that one month, he hadn’t called home even once—not because he didn’t want to, but because the mission he was on demanded absolute silence, secrecy, and sacrifice.

The mountains around him were beautiful, yet held a deadly quiet. Every day, he and his team ventured into hostile terrain, moving through narrow valleys and isolated villages, tracking whispers of terrorists hiding among civilians. Sleep was rare; danger was routine. And still, Karan held his resolve.

Today, for the first time in a month, they got a precious gift from higher officials—permission to call their families. The rule was strict: 3 minutes per person. Whether you were a jawaan or a Major General, no one got more. One by one, soldiers lined up at the single satellite phone. You could see it in their eyes—the anticipation, the longing, the relief just at the thought of hearing a loved one’s voice.

Karan stood quietly at the back, hands folded behind him, gaze fixed on the snow-covered peaks. He didn’t even realize how much he missed home until his name was called.

“major Karan shergill… your turn.”

He stepped forward, took the receiver in his gloved hand, and dialed the landline number of his home. As the phone rang on the other end, he closed his eyes briefly, his breath fogging in the cold air.

At home…

The shrill ring of the landline echoed through the quiet house. Monami, sitting on the sofa with a medical file in her lap, froze. She had waited every single day, hoping for news, hoping for a call. And now—finally—the phone rang.

With trembling fingers, she lifted the receiver, pressing it to her ear.

“Hello?” she said softly, her voice already wavering.

And then… she heard him.

“Hello, Monami…”

The moment his deep, familiar voice reached her ears, something inside her broke loose. Tears welled up instantly, spilling over without control. Her throat closed, words refusing to form. It had been a month—thirty long days of waiting, praying, worrying. And now he was here, yet so far.

She pressed her palm against her mouth, stifling the sob that rose from her chest, not wanting him to hear her fall apart. But the ache was too raw, too deep.

“Monami? Are you there?” Karan’s voice was gentler now, tinged with concern. He could sense it. Even from hundreds of kilometers away, he knew she was crying.

Behind her, Dadaji noticed. He had been watching her closely, seeing her eyes glisten, her hands tremble. Worry furrowed his aged brow. He stepped closer, placing a steadying hand on her shoulder.

“Monami beta… let me.” He gently took the receiver from her hands, cradling it between his ear and shoulder.

“Karan? Beta, it’s Dadaji. How are you, son? Is everything alright?”

Karan swallowed the lump in his throat. Hearing Dadaji’s voice brought warmth, but also reminded him of everything he was protecting.

“I’m fine, Dadaji. We’re safe. Just wanted to… hear everyone’s voice. Tell everyone I’m okay. Tell Monami… I’ll be home when my duty’s done.”

Dadaji smiled faintly, though his heart ached too.

“We’re proud of you, beta. We’re all praying for you. Monami… she’s been waiting every day. Don’t worry about us. Just take care of yourself.”

Monami wiped her tears, trying to compose herself. She leaned toward Dadaji, whispering urgently.

“Tell him I… I love him.”

Dadaji chuckled softly and spoke into the receiver:

“Karan, she says… she loves you, beta.”

There was silence on the line for a beat. And then Karan’s low voice, carrying the weight of love and longing across miles of mountains and warzones:

“Tell her I love her too… more than anything.”

The officer standing nearby signaled—the three minutes were almost up.

“Time’s up, Major.”

Karan closed his eyes again, holding the receiver tightly for one last second, as though hoping to imprint the sound of home into his soul.

“Take care of her for me, Dadaji. Jai Hind.”

“Jai Hind, beta. Always.”

The line clicked.

At home, Monami pressed her forehead to Dadaji’s arm, her tears still flowing—but this time, they were mixed with pride, relief, and an unspoken promise of waiting… however long it took.

And in the snowy valleys of Kashmir, Karan handed back the phone, pulled his cap tighter, and turned toward the hills once again.

For now, his heart had heard home.

But duty still called.

********************

Late night. Silence blanketed the house.

Monami pushed the door open softly with her spare key, careful not to make a sound. The house was dark except for a faint night lamp glowing in the hallway. She sighed, her entire body aching after an exhausting shift. Fourteen hours in the hospital, a complicated delivery case, emergency rounds—she hadn’t even realized how long it had been since she’d eaten.

Her feet dragged across the floor as she headed straight for the kitchen. Opening the fridge felt like lifting a mountain. Empty. She wasn’t surprised. Everyone had dinner hours ago. She grabbed a bottle of water and leaned against the counter, twisting the cap open.

Just as the bottle touched her lips, a firm yet gentle hand stopped her wrist.

“You shouldn’t drink water on an empty stomach, Monami. Eat something first,” came a calm, concerned voice.

She turned, surprised. It was Sooraj Sherghil —her father-in-law.

“Papa… you’re still awake?” she asked, guilt lacing her words.

He shook his head, his eyes warm despite the tiredness. “How could a father sleep when his daughter hasn’t come home yet? Tell me, why so late today?”

Something stirred in her chest at his words. Father. He called himself her father. Such a simple word, but it carried a weight she wasn’t used to. Her own father, Deepak, had never waited up for her. Never asked. Never cared.

She swallowed the lump in her throat. “It was a complicated case, Papa. An emergency C-section. But both mother and baby are safe.”

A proud smile lit up his face. “You saved someone’s world tonight. You’re a doctor, Monami—life is literally in your hands. I’m proud of you, beta.”

Her chest tightened at those words. No one had ever said that to her. Not when she graduated medical school, not when she got her first posting.

“Come sit near the dining table. I’ll warm up the food for you,” he said kindly.

“No, Papa, it’s okay—” she tried.

He raised a playful warning hand. “If you refuse, I’ll have to give you an injection, Doctor Monami. Now go sit. Quietly.”

A tired laugh escaped her lips despite the heaviness in her body. She slowly walked to the dining table, watching him move around the kitchen, heating curry, setting rotis, pouring dal into a bowl. He even tested the warmth of the food with his finger, folded a napkin beside the plate.

For the first time in years, she felt something bloom inside her. A warmth she never knew. Not indifference, not obligation—but quiet, steady love.

When he placed the warm plate in front of her and sat down across from her, resting his chin on his hand like she did, she felt tears sting her eyes.

“Eat now. Only then will I feel at peace,” he said softly.

She took a bite. And the food tasted better than any expensive restaurant meal. Because it was served with love.

She looked up at him, her voice trembling. “Papa… thank you. For waiting. For… everything.”

Sooraj smiled, his eyes crinkling with warmth. “Silly girl. That’s what fathers do. You’re my daughter. Always.”

And in that quiet kitchen, under the hum of the refrigerator and the soft ticking of the clock, a bond stronger than blood was born.

Monami wiped away a tear, smiling softly. Tonight, she wasn’t just a tired doctor. She wasn’t just a daughter-in-law. Tonight… she was a daughter. Finally.

******************

As Monami quietly chewed her food, feeling the warmth in her chest, she glanced at Sooraj and hesitated for a moment. Then softly, she spoke:

“Papa… can I ask you something?”

Sooraj looked up from the table, his gentle eyes meeting hers. “Of course, beta. What is it?”

She placed her spoon down, fingers nervously tracing the edge of her plate. “You really care for Karan, don’t you?” Her voice held hope, a quiet yearning for affirmation.

For a moment, Sooraj’s face softened, a flicker of fondness in his gaze. But then, a shadow passed over his expression. He sighed deeply, leaning back in his chair.

“He’s my son, Monami. My own flesh and blood. My heartbeat.” He paused, his throat tightening. “But…”

Monami leaned forward, concerned. “But what, Papa?”

His voice lowered, almost a whisper, heavy with a grief that had lived too long in his chest. “But he… he took my life from me. He took my Suhana away from me.”

The words hit Monami like a cold breeze. Her chest clenched. She swallowed hard, choosing her next words carefully.

“But Papa… he was just a child then, wasn’t he? He didn’t do it on purpose. He wasn’t at fault. If you lost your wife that day… then he lost his mother too, na?”

Silence filled the room, except for the faint hum of the refrigerator. Sooraj’s jaw tightened, his fingers curling into a fist on the table. His eyes glistened, but he didn’t let the tears fall.

Monami’s voice trembled, a quiet plea woven into her words. “Papa, he’s carried that burden all his life. Every day, he tries to be worthy of you. Every day, he wishes you’d see him—not as the reason for Suhana maa's death—but as your son. Just… your son.”

Sooraj looked away, his chest rising and falling with deep, uneven breaths. For years, he had buried this ache. For years, he had loved his son from a distance, unable to bridge the gap between grief and forgiveness.

Monami stood, walking to his side, and gently placed her hand on his shoulder.

“Papa… he needs you. And you need him. Don’t let this hurt keep you apart. Life’s too short.”

He closed his eyes, his shoulders trembling faintly under her touch. A tear slipped down his cheek.

“Do you think… he’ll forgive me? For pushing him away all these years?” Sooraj’s voice was hoarse, fragile.

Monami’s lips curved into a soft, reassuring smile. “He already has, Papa. He was just waiting for you to hold him close.”

And in that quiet moment, beneath the weight of shared loss and love, a father’s heart began to mend—slowly, but surely.

*********************

KASHMIR | OUTSKIRTS OF VILLAGE | 03:45 HOURS

The night was eerily silent, broken only by the crunch of boots against gravel and the soft rustle of leaves under the cold wind. Karan stood at the edge of the village, scanning the terrain through his night vision goggles. Behind him, his team of sixty men moved with silent precision, spreading out in formation.

“Cover all five kilometers. Every hut, every shed. Nothing leaves unchecked,” Karan commanded, his voice low but firm over the comms.

For the next two hours, the team combed through the village—searching haystacks, granaries, empty homes. But there was nothing. Not a sign. Not a sound. It felt too quiet, too clean.

Then one of the scouts called out softly in Karan’s earpiece.

“Sir… we found an under-construction building at the eastern end. Looks abandoned.”

Karan’s eyes narrowed. “Send coordinates. I’m coming.”

He motioned to five of his best men to follow and approached the half-finished structure—a tall, skeletal frame of cement and bricks, standing alone like a ghost in the mist. They entered silently, rifles raised, boots brushing against concrete dust.

Room by room, they searched. Every corner. Every shadow. But the place was empty.

Until Karan’s gaze fell upwards.

A wooden ceiling covered the top floor—a makeshift roof of planks and boards. Too new. Too deliberate.

He signaled his team silently, pointing up, drawing quick gestures in the air. A plan formed instantly. They would create noise—a bait. If anyone was hiding above, they would retaliate.

Two soldiers tossed flashbangs into the corners. Karan fired a burst into the ceiling. For a second, silence. Then—

RATATATAT!

Gunfire exploded from above. Bullets tore through the wooden planks, raining splinters.

“CONTACT! RETURN FIRE!” Karan yelled, diving behind a pillar. His men opened fire, covering the stairs, while others threw grenades at weak points. The building shook as muffled explosions rocked the upper floor.

The fight erupted into chaos. Terrorists fired down the stairs. Smoke and dust clouded visibility.

Hearing the gunshots, the rest of the squad stormed inside, taking defensive positions, providing cover fire. Karan led the front assault, pushing up floor by floor. But the terrorists fought viciously, like cornered animals.

Suddenly, a grenade landed near their cover.

“MOVE!” Karan shouted, tackling his men away as it detonated, a blast throwing them against the wall. He gritted his teeth, ignoring the pain searing up his leg. Blood trickled down from a fresh gash, but he pressed forward.

Room by room, they cleared, until only one remained. Karan kicked the door open, rifle raised. Inside, the last terrorist was reloading. Their eyes met for a split second—

Karan fired. The bullet struck clean. The man collapsed.

Silence fell. Only the sound of labored breathing and distant groans remained.

One of his men rushed to his side, eyes wide. “Sir! Your thigh—it’s bleeding, sir!”

Karan frowned, confused, glancing down. Blood was soaking his fatigues.

“My thigh’s… injured?” he murmured, stumbling a step. He pressed a hand against the wound, feeling the warm gush between his fingers.

But something else was wrong. His right arm wasn’t moving. He tried flexing it—nothing. A dull ache throbbed deep inside. He switched his rifle to his left hand, realization dawning.

Another soldier came running, concern etched on his face. “Sir! You’re hit in the arm too—sir, we need to evac you!”

But Karan shook his head stubbornly, wiping blood from his forehead. The world spun slightly, black creeping at the edges of his vision.

“No… no one leaves yet…” his voice rasped. He staggered back against the wall, steadying himself.

“Check the place… thoroughly…” he ordered, voice weaker now, but firm. His men surrounded him, trying to hold him up.

“No terrorist… leaves alive… understand?”

Those were his last words before his knees buckled. His head slumped forward, and he collapsed into his comrade’s arms—unconscious, bleeding, but victorious.

Outside, dawn was breaking over the valley, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink. And within the battered walls of that building, a team stood—wounded, exhausted, but undefeated.

Karan’s fight wasn’t over. But today, his bravery had kept his country a little safer.

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That’s it for today, everyone! I hope you enjoyed the update and the journey so far. I have an important announcement: I won’t be able to post any new updates until 25th May due to personal reasons. But don’t worry! I’ll be back with fresh updates right after that.

Please kindly note this, and thank you so much for reading and supporting the story—it truly means a lot