Major's Soft Obsession

Chapter 8: The Jacket That Wasn't Hers

Myra Malhotra woke up at 9:30 AM, which was late by Pine Villa standards.

Sunlight was falling on her face through the balcony curtains. The rain had finally stopped after whole night. Birds were loud outside, pine trees dripping, valley smelling fresh. And there was no counting downstairs — no one, two, three — which meant Major Veer Singh Rathore was either done with his morning drill or not home.

She stretched under the blanket, then frowned. Something was off.

The last thing she remembered was sitting in his office chair at 1:15 AM, wrapped in her shawl, watching him write his report under table lamp. She remembered feeling sleepy, him saying go to sleep Myra.

Now she was on her bed upstairs. In her own room. Door locked from inside. Key kept neatly on side table.

And a jacket covering her. Not her blanket. His jacket.

She sat up straight, blanket falling. It was his grey army jacket. The one he wore for morning runs, the one with faded name tag inside. It smelled like his black coffee and cold woods and rain and him. Too big for her, sleeves covering her hands.

She looked at empty chair in her room, then at jacket.

"Wait... did I... sleepwalk? Did I carry his jacket too? No way, I don't sleepwalk..." she whispered to herself, hand on head, trying to remember.

Her silver anklet was on her foot. It had a thin fresh scratch on side, shining, which was not there yesterday. She didn't notice it yet.

She quickly changed into her green long kurta and jeans, folded jacket properly, like it was expensive uniform, and ran downstairs, heart beating too fast.

"Veer! Major Sahib! Are you home?"

No answer. Kitchen was empty, clean, his coffee mug washed. Office was empty, chair pushed inside, files stacked. But his black Royal Enfield bike was still parked in porch, wet, mud on tyres from last night. So he was home. He never went out without bike.

She went to back garden where iron rod was tied between two pine trees for his workout.

And there he was — doing pull-ups. Shirtless. Black shorts. Back towards her, sweat dripping down spine, muscles moving with every pull-up, veins visible. He was counting in his mind today, not loudly, fully focused.

Myra stopped at garden door. Froze. Face hot.

"You... you are without t-shirt! Wear a t-shirt right now! You can't do this!"

Veer dropped down on his feet lightly, turned, breathing hard. He picked up white towel from ground and wiped face and neck.

"Good morning, sleeping beauty. 9:30 AM. New record for Pine Villa. You finally broke your own late record."

Myra was not looking directly at him, only at his face, trying very hard to keep eyes up.

"How... how did I reach my bed last night? I was in your office chair... I slept there only... Did I walk by myself? Tell truth."

Veer took his grey t-shirt from bench and wore it slowly, watching her messy bun, sleepy eyes, green kurta wrinkled.

"You slept in my chair. I woke you up after some time. Told you to go upstairs and sleep properly. You went. You took my jacket because you said you were cold and shivering. You locked door yourself. You don't remember? You were half-asleep."

Myra frowned, trying hard to remember blank.

"I... I don't remember walking... I remember your chair, then... blank... full blank..."

"You were half-asleep. Almost sleepwalking. And you talk a lot in sleep, Myra Malhotra. You mumble non-stop."

Her eyes widened, scared now, clutching jacket.

"What... what did I say? Did I say something embarrassing? Tell me now!"

Veer walked a little closer, towel around neck, small smirk on lips.

"Let me remember... you said Major Sahib is rude but his jacket smells nice. And his office chair is more comfortable than my bed. And you said you like rain in Dehradun."

Myra's entire face turned red. Instant red, from neck to ears.

"I never said that! I would never say your jacket smells nice! You are lying!"

"You did. In sleep. Do I have proof? No. So you have to believe me. It's your words, not mine."

"You are making stories! You are making it up to tease me!"

He shrugged casually and walked back to kitchen like he didn't care. Myra followed him quickly, holding his jacket tight like evidence.

"Your jacket," she said, placing it on kitchen slab. "Thank you... but I don't remember taking it... so returning."

"Keep it for now. Dehradun winter is coming soon, and you only have thin kurtas and one shawl. Return when you buy thick jacket. I have two jackets."

He had only one. She had seen his cupboard. But he lied so smoothly.

Myra looked at him making his black coffee — strong, bitter, no sugar, his daily routine. But today something was different. He was softer. Less Rule, more talk. Less Major, more Veer. Eyes tired because he also slept late.

"Veer?" she said, calling him Veer, not Major Sahib, first time in morning. Voice soft.

"Hmm?" He poured water in kettle.

"Did you... did you carry me? From office to my bed? Honestly tell, I won't tell anyone."

Veer paused. Coffee mug mid-air. For two seconds he didn't move. Then continued pouring, expression not changing, perfect army poker face.

"Myra, I am a Para SF Major, not a hero from your Jane Austen novel who carries girls in rain. I told you to walk. You walked. I did not carry you."

Lie. Second lie. Myra caught it instantly, like she caught CCTV lie last week. Because if she walked herself, jacket would be on her shoulders, not neatly tucked around her like someone covered her after she fell asleep. Someone careful, someone who didn't want her to catch cold.

"You are lying again," she said softly, stepping closer. "You carried me, right? Like yesterday you came in 19 minutes in heavy rain just because I was scared, today you carried me?"

Veer kept mug down, looked at her seriously now. Kitchen small, sunlight from window, her green kurta bright.

"Myra, listen. Even if I carried you, it is because you slept in my office chair and I cannot let my tenant sleep in office chair all night. It is my responsibility as house owner. Not... not something else. Don't make love story in head."

"But you broke Rule Five? Touching? Carrying is touching. Rule Five says do not get close to me."

"Rule Five says do not get close to me emotionally. Carrying a sleeping tenant to her bed is not getting close, it is helping. There is a difference. Learn it."

"There is no difference! Touch is touch! You only made rule!"

Veer stepped closer — just one step. She could see his wet hair, tired eyes, scar near eyebrow.

"Do you want me to say I carried you? Will that make you happy? That Major Veer Singh Rathore carried his nineteen-year-old tenant in his arms at 1:27 AM from his office to her bedroom? Will that make you stop asking from morning?"

Myra's breath stopped.

"Arms? At 1:27 AM? You remember exact time..."

"I remember every time you break rules, Myra. 9:07 PM guitar loud. 7:13 PM boy at gate without permission. 1:15 AM office sitting without knocking. 1:27 AM I told you to go to bed."

He almost said I carried. He stopped at last second, jaw tight, looked away.

Myra smiled. Small victorious smile.

"You carried me," she said confident. "You carried me and covered me and locked door and kept key on table. You did."

Veer picked up coffee, about to go.

Then Myra's eyes went down to her feet. To silver anklet he gave her yesterday.

There was fresh thin scratch on side, silver scratched, black paint stuck on edge. Very new.

From iron leg of his office chair, where her foot hit when he lifted her.

Proof.

Veer saw where she was looking and his jaw tightened instantly. Caught red-handed.

"Believe what you want, Miss Detective. I have work. Do not disturb till 12," he said, walking to office fast.

Myra stood in kitchen holding coffee he made, smiling like crazy, looking at scratch again and again.

"He carried me," she whispered, jumping a little, anklet making sound. "He carried me and lying!"

At 12:30 PM, Myra went down to return jacket, but his office was locked from inside. He was on video call. Yes sir, no sir, copy sir.

She kept jacket neatly folded outside door, knocked lightly, ran upstairs, chhan-chhan.

At 2 PM, jacket was gone. In its place — small Dairy Milk Silk, kept on same spot. No note. Just chocolate, cold from fridge.

She picked it up and understood. Was it thank you? Or sorry for lying? Or just because?

She ate chocolate in bed, looking at rain-washed pine trees, legs swinging, happy for no big reason.

At 6 PM, it rained again. Light rain.

Myra went down to make tea, saw Veer in porch, sitting alone, looking at rain, no phone, tea in hand.

"Can I sit?" she asked from door.

He nodded.

She sat on other chair, keeping distance, both looking at rain, tea in hands. Good silence. Pine trees dripping, sky grey-blue, cold air coming.

After ten minutes, she said softly, "Veer? If I sleepwalk again tonight, will you carry me again?"

"If you sleepwalk again, I will lock my office door. So you cannot sleep in chair."

"That is rude!"

"That is Rule Four."

"You are impossible."

"You are more disturbing than a file. A file does not wear green kurta in rain and ask to be carried again."

Myra laughed loud, echoing with rain.

Veer looked at her laughing and forgot rules, age gap, tenant, leave ending.

Mid-laugh she stopped when she saw him looking. Not cold. Soft. Like from Jane Austen novels she read.

"You... you are staring," she whispered.

"I am not staring. I am seeing if rain stopped."

Rain had not stopped. But excuse was bad.

She stood quickly. "I will go up... you see rain alone..."

She ran upstairs, heart beating fast.

Veer sat alone, tea cold. Looked up at her balcony. She was peeking from curtain. Quickly hid when he looked.

Veer smiled — small secret smile, only for himself, that no one had ever seen.

He typed in phone notes: Rule Five broken again. 4 times.