The Girl Who Left Mussoorie
758 Words
Eshaan's POV
Three Months Later
People often say soldiers are trained to say goodbye.
They are wrong.
No amount of training teaches you how to watch someone leave.
Especially someone who was always there.
I stood outside the Khan house that morning.
The same house where I had seen a little girl with messy hair, scraped knees, and endless confidence running around.
The same girl who once climbed a mango tree.
The same girl who bit my hand because I touched her braid.
Hania Khan.
The biggest troublemaker I had ever met.
And somehow...
one of the most unforgettable people in my life.
The driveway was full of luggage.
Everyone was emotional.
Her father was checking everything for the tenth time.
Her mother was giving her endless advice.
Aashi was trying not to cry.
Shanya was pretending to be strong.
And Hania...
She was smiling.
Of course she was.
That girl always smiled when things became difficult.
I watched her say goodbye to her family.
The little girl I remembered was gone.
The girl standing in front of me now was eighteen.
Confident.
Ambitious.
Ready to leave everything familiar behind.
She wanted to become a scientist.
She wanted to explore the world.
And for some reason...
I respected that.
I remembered the first time I saw her.
An eleven-year-old girl hanging from a mango tree.
Most children would have been scared.
She wasn't.
She argued with me.
She challenged me.
She even bit me.
Nobody had ever dared to do that.
Not even my teammates.
Not even my friends.
But Hania Khan looked at me like I was just another person.
Not an officer.
Not someone people feared.
Just Eshaan.
Over the years, I had watched her grow.
The little girl became a teenager.
The arguments stayed the same.
Her confidence increased.
Her dreams became bigger.
But one thing never changed.
She still called me—
"Strict officer."
Even after knowing my rank.
Even after knowing everyone respected me.
She never changed the way she treated me.
When she told Shanya that she wouldn't have to see me for eight or nine years...
I don't know why those words stayed in my mind.
Maybe because I was used to people leaving.
Army life teaches you that.
Friends get transferred.
People move away.
Goodbyes become normal.
But somehow...
hearing Hania say it felt different.
At the airport...
I stood with my family.
Everyone hugged her.
Everyone gave her advice.
I stayed back.
I didn't know what to say.
What do you say to someone leaving to chase their dreams?
"Don't go"?
No.
That would be selfish.
She walked toward me before leaving.
"So..."
She smiled.
"I guess this is goodbye."
I looked at her.
"For now."
She laughed softly.
"Don't worry. You won't have to tolerate me for many years."
I almost smiled.
Almost.
"Who said I was tolerating you?"
She looked surprised.
For once, she had no comeback.
I continued,
"You were always loud enough to be noticed."
Her eyes narrowed.
"Was that a compliment?"
"No."
"I knew it."
But then I said the one thing I actually meant.
"Good luck, Hania."
For a second...
The teasing disappeared.
She smiled.
"Thank you, strict officer."
The plane took off.
And Hania Khan left Mussoorie behind.
That evening...
I returned to the Singh house.
Everything felt strangely quiet.
No arguments.
No loud laughter.
No one stealing food from Shanya's plate.
No one calling me boring.
Shanya noticed my silence.
"Bhai?"
"Hmm?"
"You're thinking about Hania leaving?"
I looked at her.
"No."
She smiled knowingly.
"You're a terrible liar."
I ignored her.
But she was right.
I didn't know when it happened.
Somewhere between mango trees, arguments, and family dinners...
Hania Khan had become a familiar part of my life.
Not because she was special to everyone.
Because she was different with me.
She never treated me like an officer.
She treated me like a person.
But she was leaving.
And I had my own path.
My duty.
My uniform.
My country.
Years would pass.
People would change.
Lives would move forward.
At least...
that was what I believed.
I looked at the empty seat where she usually sat during family dinners.
A strange thought crossed my mind.
Eight or nine years is a long time.
By then...
maybe she would forget the strict officer from Mussoorie.
Maybe I would forget the little girl who called me a monster.
Maybe.
But somewhere deep inside...
I knew one thing.
The girl who left Mussoorie today...
was not someone I would easily forget.
- Writer
