Major's Soft Obsession

Rain in Dehradun does not ask for permission. It arrives without warning, drums against the tin roofs, shakes the pine trees until they bend, and turns every narrow lane into a stream of mud and dead leaves. And in that rain, Myra Malhotra was dragging a blue suitcase with one broken wheel. The wheel was not moving at all. It scraped against the wet road with a sharp, ugly sound. Her white cotton kurta was completely drenched. It clung to her skin and made her shiver. Her dupatta kept slipping from her shoulder. Her long black hair was stuck to her face and neck, dripping water. Her phone showed four percent battery. Twenty minutes ago, the auto driver had dropped her at the wrong lane and said the car could not go any further. Since then, Google Maps had been frozen on the same screen. Searching for GPS. Myra stopped and took out the folded paper from her pocket. She had read it ten times already. The ink was smudged now because of the rain. House No. 47, Pine Villa, Rajpur Road. "Where is this Pine Villa?" she whispered to herself. Every house on the lane looked identical. Tall iron gates, closed. Thick pine trees that blocked most of the light. Absolute silence, except for the rain and a dog barking somewhere far away. Her suitcase felt heavier with every step she took. She was nineteen. It was the first time she had left home alone. And she was already regretting it. She remembered her father's words at the railway station that morning. "How will you manage alone in Dehradun, Myra? You have never lived without help." At that time she had argued. Now, standing alone in the cold rain, his words felt true. She started walking again. Her slippers were full of water. Each step made a splashing sound. Her hands were cold, her bangles kept hitting the handle of the suitcase. And then she saw it. Through the heavy curtain of rain, at the end of the lane, there was a black wooden gate. It was different from the others. Old, a little rusted at the corners, the paint peeling off in places. And in the middle of it, a small brass plate was shining, even in the rain. Someone had cleaned it recently. PINE VILLA - Major V. S. Rathore. Myra felt a rush of relief. "This is it. Finally," she said, and ran toward it. The gate was much heavier than it looked. She pushed it with one hand, but it did not move. She kept her handbag on the ground and pushed with both hands. Her bangles clinked. She applied all her strength, and the gate finally opened with a long, loud creak that echoed in the silent lane. The house inside was not what she had imagined. She had imagined a small, cute house with warm lights and flower pots. This was nothing like that. It was beautiful, but in a quiet, intimidating way. It was an old British-style bungalow. The walls were made of grey stone and were covered with dark green ivy. The garden was wild and unkempt, with wet red roses scattered on the muddy ground. The porch was made of dark wood, and a single yellow bulb was flickering above the main door. There were no other lights. No sound, except the rain falling on the leaves and the roof. Myra left her suitcase near the stairs. She was breathing heavily. Her chest was rising and falling fast. She walked up to the main door and knocked. Knock. Knock. No answer. She waited for a few seconds and knocked again, harder this time. Her knuckles started to hurt. "Hello? Is anyone there? I am Myra, the new tenant. Mrs. Lata sent me. I have paid the advance for the room." There was still no answer. The wind had become stronger. Her suitcase was lying open slightly, and rainwater was getting inside. Her certificates, her clothes, everything was in that suitcase. "Great. Just great. First day and I am locked out," she muttered, feeling completely frustrated. She had no choice. She sat down on the wooden bench on the porch and hugged her small handbag to her chest. She was shivering badly now. Her kurta was soaked, her hair was dripping, and her body was cold. She tried very hard not to cry, but her eyes were already burning. What Myra did not know was that someone had been watching her from the first-floor window for the last two minutes. Major Veer Singh Rathore had returned only two hours ago after fourteen days of posting in Kashmir. He was twenty-eight years old, but his eyes looked much older. They were tired, dark, and had seen too much. He had not slept properly in days. He was wearing an olive green army vest and had a white towel around his neck. His hair was still damp from the shower, and there was a fresh cut on his left forearm. He had come to Pine Villa for silence. He had strictly told Lata, the broker, that he did not want any tenants. He wanted to be alone on his leave. When he heard the gate creak, he frowned. No one entered Pine Villa without his permission. He walked to the window to check, and then he stopped. There was a girl in his porch. She was sitting on his bench, completely drenched in rain, hair messy, trying to look angry, but actually looking lost and vulnerable. Like a stubborn kitten who was trying very hard to be strong. His jaw tightened. He threw the towel on the bed and walked downstairs barefoot. His dog tags made a faint sound as he moved. Even before he opened the door, his presence could be felt in the entire hallway. He was six feet one inch tall, broad-shouldered, with a sharp jawline and light stubble. On the centre table behind him, his maroon beret of the Para Special Forces was kept neatly. He opened the main door with a jerk. A gust of cold air and rain came inside with it. Myra looked up, startled. Her eyes widened. For a second, neither of them spoke. The only sound was the heavy rain. He was intimidating. He did not need to raise his voice to command attention. His eyes were cold and tired, but they were intense enough to make anyone look away. She looked small in front of him. Nineteen years old, fresh face, big eyes lined with smudged kohl, wet eyelashes, lips trembling from both cold and anger. She was looking up at him as if he were a wall she wanted to both climb and break at the same time. "Who are you and why are you in my house?" His voice was low, calm, and commanding.