𝗛𝗲𝗿 𝘂𝗻𝗶𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘀𝗲, 𝗛𝗶𝘀 𝘂𝗻𝗶𝗳𝗼𝗿𝗺

Manali is a town in Himachal Pradesh, India, known for its cool weather, natural beauty, and kind people. 

About 20 km away lies Naggar, a quiet, charming town on the banks of the Beas River.

At the center of Naggar, the market buzzes with morning energy. Shops selling clothes, fresh fruits and vegetables from nearby gardens, hardware items, fried snacks, and flowers. 

But tucked between them stands the once popular Girdharilal Sharma Sweet Shop, now quiet since Girdharilal Sharma passed away last year.

Inside, a young girl sits behind the counter. She wears a woolen sweater and rests her chin on her hand, half asleep. 

This is Ruhani Sharma, Girdharilal’s 21-year-old granddaughter. Daughter of Pratam sharma.

“Ruhani Sharma!” her father calls sharply from the back room. 

She blinks and sits up straight, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face.

"Ahn, Baba," she said, steadying herself and arranging the sweets like a professional sweet shop owner.

"This is the third time today you’ve fallen asleep. You are so irresponsible." He sighed heavily.

She gave a nervous smile as her dad kept muttering about how she needed to be good and responsible in the house she was going to be married into.

She stuffed her ears with cotton, took an old foldable fan, and carefully positioned it beside the counter to keep the flies at bay without disturbing the display.

Her father sits near the cash box, counting the money, and sighs, wondering how he will manage the business in the coming days, as the shop is heading toward a downfall.

Ruhani Sharma dozes off again. Three kids, who are playing outside the shop, slowly sneak in by crawling on the floor. They snatch two sweets and try to run away, but one small boy falls down, and her dad gets up, scolding the kids.

“Ruhani!” her dad calls again. She jumps up and sits straight. He’s really pissed now, and her eyes shift to the little boy, who looks ready to cry any minute.

She sighs softly and apologizes to her dad. He scolds her again and tells her to go back home and bring her brother, Aarav Sharma.

She nods, then picks up the little boy in her arms and comforts him gently. The boy clings to her. She gently feeds him the sweets and warns the other two kids not to steal sweets, telling them it’s a bad habit.

Returning home, Ruhani sees her brother, Aarav Sharma ,19 years old smirking at her.

“Did Baba tell you to get out of the shop?” he asks with a smug grin.

She just rolls her eyes. “Yes, Mr. Favourite Son of Pratham Sharma.

Should I tell Dad that you call him by his name when he’s home alone?"

Her eyes widen. “No!”

He smirks. “Exactly.”

“You know,” he says, folding his arms, “you’re not fit for sweet selling or ever being the shop owner. I’m sure Dad will make me the owner, give me all the property, and you’ll be working as my maid in my own shop.”

That triggers her.

“You idiot!” she snaps, grabbing his hair. He bites her hand in return.

Their fight turns loud and chaotic, so much that their mother yells from the kitchen, calling out both their names. She storms out with a big slipper in hand.

They both run for their lives.

Aarav dashes towards the shop, while Ruhani escapes into the nearby temple, still fuming.

That's how ruhani Sharma's life is. All happy , chaotic , filled with love and care.  She thinks her life will be like this always but she didn't know a big storm is coming towards her way to be here forever. The one she loathes so much but still has unknown care for that person.

That’s how Ruhani Sharma’s life is happy, chaotic, and overflowing with love and care. She believes it will always stay this way. But what she doesn’t know is that a storm is quietly making its way into her life a storm meant to be hers forever.

The one she loathes with all her heart... yet unknowingly, cares for more than she realizes.

She stops in front of the temple and offers a quick prayer to Goddess Durga.

To the right of the temple stands her dad’s best friend’s house ,Ram Singh Rathore’s bungalow.

She scoffs, because just beneath that nameplate is the one she detests the most: Veerprakash Singh Rathore, her one and only childhood enemy.

“Lieutenant Veerprakash Singh Rathore,” she mimics in his exact tone,the same way he introduced himself two years ago.

Two years.

She suddenly realizes it’s been that long since she last saw him. A strange ache tugs at her chest, she almost misses him.

Almost.

But she quickly curses herself. I’m just being stupid, she mutters and turns to walk away.

Yet, just a few steps later, she glances back at the nameplate and pauses.

"Where is he now?

How is he?"

The questions linger in her heart, unanswered.

----

In Kashmir, within the disciplined grounds of the Rajputana Rifles Regiment, the atmosphere thrums with intensity. Soldiers move with purpose, sweat mixing with grit as they train under the scorching midday sun.

Some practice with assault rifles at the firing range, their eyes sharp, arms steady, and each shot echoing like thunder through the crisp mountain air. A group nearby runs tactical drills, mud on their boots, shouts of commands rising in rhythm. On another end, men grunt through strength training: deadlifts, rope climbs, push-ups—building bodies as strong as their resolve.

In one corner of the grounds, Lieutenant Veerprakash Singh Rathore trains alone furiously.

His broad shoulders flex with each push-up, his well-built triceps straining as he shifts to pull-ups, sweat pouring down his back. Every muscle moves with precision, the veins on his arms popping, his chest rising and falling with raw determination.

The sun catches on his glistening skin, highlighting the sharp lines of his jaw, the focus in his eyes, and the storm brewing quietly behind them.

He’s a force untouched by distraction, untouched by mercy. A soldier with demons, discipline, and a name that once made a certain girl roll her eyes and scoff.

But here, at this moment, Lieutenant Veerprakash Singh Rathore is not a memory. He is a man made of steel, sweat, and something unfinished.

Just as Veerprakash finishes a final set of pull-ups, wiping the sweat from his brow with the edge of his camo tee, a familiar voice calls out from behind.

“Bro, I’m heading home next week. For my engagement.”

Veerprakash turns, a small, proud smirk pulling at the corner of his lips. “Finally, huh? The brave man decides to surrender.”

His friend, Captain Ishan Mehra laughs and claps him on the back. “Better to surrender to love than bullets, no? She’s from Udaipur. My parents fixed it, but I like her. I think it’ll work.”

Veer raises his eyebrows with mild surprise. “That’s rare.  You actually liking someone?”

“Haha, funny,” Ishan grins, then pauses for a moment, looking at Veerprakash with a teasing glint in his eyes.
“You know, when I told her I used to be a softie as a kid, she laughed and said she fought with her neighbour over a teddy bear. It reminded me of you.”

Veerprakash frowns slightly, his smirk fading just a little. “Me?”

“Yeah,” Ishan chuckles. “You and that one girl. What was her name again? The one you used to fight like a cat and dog with? Oh, Ruhani Sharma!”

At that name, something shifts behind Veer’s dark eyes. A memory breaks through the dust of time.

---

Two children, no older than six ,sitting in the middle of a living room, surrounded by toys.

A small girl in a yellow frock, her cheeks plump, her hair tied in messy twin braids with butterfly clips, clutches a bright red teddy bear like her life depends on it.

“It’s mine, Veeru!” she shrieks, holding it tightly against her chest, her round eyes glaring through her thick lashes.

Little Veerprakash, wearing a toy soldier’s cap two sizes too big for him, stands arms crossed, fuming. “My mom bought it for both of us! Sharing is discipline!”

Ruhani stomps her foot. “I don’t care about your discipline! You didn’t even comb your hair, soldier boy!”

“That’s a strategy!” he shoots back, puffing his chest like a real officer. “Messy hair confuses the enemy!”

And just like that, the two of them begin wrestling over the toy. Amid the chaos, they fall into a fit of laughter, tangled up in cushions and pride, as their mothers watch with a mix of fondness and exasperation.

---

Back in the present, Veerprakash blinks away the memory, jaw tightening ever so slightly.

“Ruhani Sharma,” he repeats under his breath, as if testing how it feels after all this time.

Ishan notices the shift and nudges him. “You okay?”

Veer looks out toward the mountains, lips twitching faintly. “Yeah…
just remembering how annoying that girl used to be.”

But the truth?

He can still remember the scent of her hair, the sound of her childish giggle, and those big eyes that used to look at him like he was her worst enemy… and something more.

And for the first time in two years, he wonders where she is now.

----

             Ⓐ︎Ⓤ︎Ⓣ︎Ⓗ︎Ⓞ︎Ⓡ︎Ⓢ︎ Ⓝ︎Ⓞ︎Ⓣ︎Ⓔ︎ :

𝗧𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝘄𝗮𝘀 𝘀𝘂𝗽𝗽𝗼𝘀𝗲𝗱 𝘁𝗼 𝗯𝗲 𝘂𝗽𝗹𝗼𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗱 𝗼𝗻 𝗠𝗮𝘆 𝟲𝘁𝗵, 𝗯𝘂𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝗻𝗸𝘀 𝘁𝗼 𝗺𝘆 𝗶𝗻𝗰𝗿𝗲𝗱𝗶𝗯𝗹𝗲 𝗹𝗮𝘇𝗶𝗻𝗲𝘀𝘀, 𝗶𝘁’𝘀 𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝗮 𝗯𝗶𝘁 𝗹𝗮𝘁𝗲. 😅.  𝗔𝗻𝘆𝘄𝗮𝘆, 𝗜 𝗵𝗼𝗽𝗲 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗲𝗻𝗷𝗼𝘆 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗻𝗲𝘄 𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗿! 

𝗙𝗿𝗼𝗺 𝗻𝗼𝘄 𝗼𝗻, 𝗻𝗲𝘄 𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗿𝘀 𝘄𝗶𝗹𝗹 𝗯𝗲 𝘂𝗽𝗹𝗼𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗱 𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘆 𝗦𝘂𝗻𝗱𝗮𝘆. 𝗦𝗼 𝘀𝘁𝗮𝘆 𝘁𝘂𝗻𝗲𝗱.  😉𝗔𝗹𝘀𝗼, 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗶𝘀 𝗺𝘆 𝗳𝗶𝗿𝘀𝘁 𝗯𝗼𝗼𝗸 𝗽𝘂𝗯𝗹𝗶𝗰𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻, 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗜’𝗱 𝘁𝗿𝘂𝗹𝘆 𝗮𝗽𝗽𝗿𝗲𝗰𝗶𝗮𝘁𝗲 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝘀𝘂𝗽𝗽𝗼𝗿𝘁.

𝗜𝗳 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗹𝗶𝗸𝗲𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗿, 𝗽𝗹𝗲𝗮𝘀𝗲 𝘀𝗵𝗼𝘄 𝘀𝗼𝗺𝗲 𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗵𝗲𝗹𝗽 𝗺𝗲 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗰𝗵 𝟭𝟱 𝘃𝗼𝘁𝗲𝘀 𝗼𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗳𝗶𝗿𝘀𝘁 𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗿. 𝗬𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝘀𝘂𝗽𝗽𝗼𝗿𝘁 𝗺𝗲𝗮𝗻𝘀 𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘆𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴!  𝗠𝘂𝗰𝗵 𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲 .
                                                              [𝑱𝒐𝒚] 💖