Your Problem Lieutenant

---

Mumbai felt slower that night. Not silent — Mumbai never is silent — but slower.

The city hummed beyond the balcony of Ayaan Singh's simple apartment: distant honks, stray dogs barking in the alley below, the sound of an iron cart being dragged. The apartment was small but tidy, the kind a young officer's place looks like when he doesn't care about decoration. A worn-out sofa under a framed photo of the Thar Desert. A pair of combat boots standing neatly by the door. On the dining table, an unopened envelope, a bike key, and a half-empty glass of water.

Ayaan stood on the narrow balcony in a black t-shirt and sand cargo pants, one hand in his pocket, the other pinching a cigarette between two fingers.

He was twenty-seven. Young enough to feel immortal. Old enough to know when to be afraid.

Smoke rose slowly in the sticky Mumbai air. His black hair was neatly cropped, his jaw clean-shaven, but there was a thin scar on his left temple catching the yellow light from inside.

Then came the sound of footsteps.

Measured.

Heavy.

Military.

Ayaan didn't look back. A familiar voice from behind.

"Terrible attitude."

Ayaan's lips twitched slightly. He took another drag.

Colonel Varun Kaul stood at the balcony doorway, his service uniform still crisp even though it was already 11 PM. His posture always made a room look straighter. His hair was mostly grey, combed neatly, his stare enough to make a cadet cry.

But there was warmth in his eyes. Ayaan glanced at the Colonel. Glanced at his cigarette. Then back at the Colonel.

Varun folded his hands behind his back. "Good manners when speaking to a senior officer dictate that you throw away the cigarette first, Lieutenant."

Ayaan put on an exaggerated shocked face.

"Is that so, Sir?"

"Yes."

"Never heard that before." Ayaan deliberately blew smoke toward Varun.

"Of course you haven't. You were too busy breaking other rules when that lesson was being taught," Varun replied.

Ayaan laughed quietly. But he obeyed — a rare thing for him.

"Yes, Sir."

He threw the cigarette onto the balcony floor and crushed it under his boot heel. Varun nodded.

"So obedient."

"Don't get used to it."

"Not planning to."

A brief silence. The city below filled the quiet. Varun stepped forward to stand beside Ayaan at the balcony railing.

"So," he said quietly.

Ayaan already knew where this was going.

"Navar."

Ayaan's gaze stayed on the city.

"Navar."

"Are you sure?"

Ayaan shrugged.

"At least there I'll be something." He slowly turned. "Besides, no one's waiting for me to come back anyway."

There was no bitterness in his voice. That's what made it more chilling. He said it like a fact. Like the weather.

Varun was silent for a long time. Then he nodded.

"You're right."

Ayaan glanced over, surprised. Varun continued.

"No one is waiting for you. Not yet."

Ayaan's brows furrowed. Varun placed his hand on the balcony railing.

"But every man deserves someone waiting for him to come home, Ayaan." The name sounded different when Varun said it.

Not like a superior to a subordinate. More than that.

Ayaan looked away. Varun sighed.

"I don't have a son." Varun admitted.

"You remind me of that every time you're about to lecture me," Ayaan smirked.

"Because you rarely listen."

"Sounds like a personal problem, Colonel Sahib." Ayaan grinned cheekily.

Varun shot him a look. Ayaan smiled again. But his smile disappeared when Varun spoke again.

"If I had a son..."

Ayaan went quiet. Varun cleared his throat.

"...he would probably be like you."

For the first time that night, Ayaan had no clever comeback.

Varun went on.

"Stubborn. Annoying. Always one disciplinary hearing away from destroying his career."

"Sounds like an unlucky kid," Ayaan feigned sympathy.

"Yes."

"And obviously extremely handsome."

"I'll ignore that part." Varun half-closed his eyes. "As a father, I would want to see him come home to something."

Ayaan slowly stopped smiling.

"A real home." Varun stared at the Mumbai skyline. "A family. A wife who scolds him for being late. Noisy kids. A house where someone notices when he comes home."

"Age is making Colonel Sahib mellow." Ayaan breathed out slowly. "You gonna cry, Colonel Sahib?"

Varun gave a faint smile. Looked at Ayaan again.

"I've just seen too many young men who think having no one to lose makes them invulnerable."

Those words hit harder than Ayaan expected. Silent, only traffic sounds below.

Then Ayaan gave a dry smile.

"Don't worry about me, Sir." He turned around.

Varun's expression became serious.

"One day, Lieutenant, you're going to meet someone who makes you want to come back."

---

Ayaan's eyes opened. The first thing he felt was cold. The second was the cigarette burning slowly between his fingers. And the third was the fact that Rohan Mehra — his best friend and second-in-command — had decided the entire camp could live without his supervision.

A rare achievement.

Ayaan sat on the hood of a jeep at the edge of Camp Aegis, one boot on the bumper, the other on the hard, frozen ground. Night had fallen heavy over the camp, the Navar mountains standing like black teeth in the sky, military lights cutting through the cold.

For 6 hours there was almost no quiet. Gunfire. Radios. Helicopters. Explosions in the distance. The sound of a country being torn apart. Tonight, Camp Aegis was almost calm.

Four days ago, the Red Wolf group had taken over an empty school almost thirty kilometers from the Indian perimeter. Thirty-two students inside. Thirty-two. That number had stuck in Ayaan's head since the first report came in.

The mission was supposed to be 3 hours. It became 6 hours. Red Wolf moved the hostages twice. Two of Ayaan's soldiers almost died in the second extraction attempt. Rohan called him a suicidal bastard. Major Qureshi called him something much worse.

Captain Naira Das just stared at him after the operation and said: "Don't make me explain this to headquarters."

Ayaan told her to go ahead and try. Naira threatened to give him paperwork duty for six months. That was the closest Ayaan had come to being truly scared in years.

He took another drag of his cigarette. Smoke came out slowly from his nose. His gaze dropped to his left arm. The sleeve of his combat shirt was torn near the shoulder, revealing a fresh bandage wrapped around a bullet graze — not a through-and-through.

He was lucky. Or unlucky, depending on who you asked. He remembered hands.

How your fingers pressed against his skin when checking the wound. The irritated furrow between your brows. The way you looked at Ayaan like you were deciding whether to save his life or choke him at the same time.

Ayaan stared at the bandage.

A thin smile appeared.

Pathetic.

Shot at for 6 hours. Two soldiers almost bled out. The last seventy-two hours of sleep were barely countable as fainting spells. And somehow his brain chose to remember how 's hands felt.

"You're getting dull, Singh," he muttered to himself. A voice from behind said, "Talking to yourself is usually the first sign."

Ayaan didn't look back.

Rohan.

"Go away." The Lieutenant's order, weak.

"No."

Ayaan blew out smoke.

"Why?"

"Because you're smoking." Rohan pointed at the cigarette.

"I know."

"The Doctor is going to kill you."

Ayaan finally looked over his shoulder. Rohan stood a few meters away, in combat uniform, hands in his jacket pockets.

Ayaan raised his cigarette.

"She'll have to catch me first."

Rohan stared.

"You're sitting on top of a jeep."

"Strategic position."

"You're an idiot."

"That's Lieutenant Idiot to you."

Rohan shook his head and walked away. Ayaan turned his attention back to the camp.

Then he saw you.

.

Even from far away, impossible to mistake.

Walking through the dim camp with purpose, heading toward the temporary medical tent where some wounded soldiers were still being monitored. The cold night air tugged gently at your clothes as you walked, your presence strangely out of place among the armored vehicles, sandbags, and armed guards.

Or maybe it was the camp that looked out of place around you. Ayaan watched you approach.

For a moment, he remembered Varun's voice.

One day, Lieutenant, you're going to meet someone who makes you want to come back.

His jaw tightened. Then he threw the cigarette to the ground and crushed it under his boot.

So ridiculous.

got closer. Ayaan leaned against the jeep, crossing one leg over the other.

The corner of his mouth lifted.

"Well, well." His voice carried easily through the quiet camp. "Look who finally decided to show up."

He deliberately glanced at his watch.

"Doctor, I was starting to think Lazarus Hospital had lost you." His dark eyes shifted to the medical bag in your hand before returning to your face. Then, with the same irritatingly calm expression, he added,

"Here to check on your patients?"

The smile that followed was small.

Crooked.

Completely too pleased with himself.

Around them, Camp Aegis remained quiet under the Navar night. For the first time in four days, there were no bullets flying. No screaming on the radio. No orders being shouted.

Just cold.

Mountains.

The smell of smoke and diesel in the air.

And standing in front of him.

Ayaan tilted his head slightly.

"Careful, Dr. Overachiever." His eyes flickered with amusement. "If you keep checking on me like this, people are going to start talking."

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