The war zone was never quiet.

Even in its calmest hour, the wind carried the weight of whispers — of commands barked, bones mended, soldiers prayed for, and some never returned.

Dr. Saraswati Ranjan tightened the bloodied bandage around a soldier's thigh, her gloves sticky, her forehead beaded with sweat despite the chilling Ladakh breeze. She glanced at the tent flap just as it blew open, revealing a tall silhouette outlined in dust and dusk.

Major Rajveer Singh Thakur.

Six feet of silent steel. The kind of man who didn't waste words when a nod could do. The kind of officer who walked into a room, and even chaos straightened its spine.

"Doctor," he said, voice clipped but not unkind. "I need to speak with you. Privately."

Saraswati raised an eyebrow. She hadn't slept in 32 hours. She'd lost two men on the table today. And now she was being summoned like she was in his command.

Still, she peeled off her gloves and nodded. "Lead the way, Major."

They walked out of the medical camp into the icy twilight. Snow-capped peaks loomed in the distance, indifferent to the fragile humans fighting below.

"One of our undercover officers has been compromised," Rajveer began, his jaw tight. "To maintain his cover, command believes a diversion is required—"

"And I'm the diversion?" she interrupted, crossing her arms. "I'm a doctor, not a decoy."

"You're a soldier. And this isn't a game," he shot back. "The safest way to preserve intelligence and lives... is to marry you to me."

Saraswati blinked. For a moment, she thought the exhaustion had finally made her hallucinate.

"Excuse me?"

"A legally binding marriage. On paper. Immediate. No ceremonies. Just signatures. It protects the operation, and it protects you."

There was a long pause. Her heartbeat thudded in her ears.

"And what about protecting me from this decision?"

Rajveer didn't flinch. "I wouldn't ask if there was time. But you're the only one with access, credibility, and clearance. This buys us time. The enemy won't question why you're being extracted from the zone."

"So I become your... what? Temporary wife? Like a field assignment?"

The hurt in her voice surprised even her.

"It's just paperwork," he said quietly.

She laughed bitterly. "You mean it's just my life."

Silence fell between them again. But then she looked into his eyes — eyes that had seen death, destruction, and duty like no one else.

And somewhere, between the lines of command and code, she saw the truth: Rajveer wouldn't ask if this wasn't the only way. This wasn't manipulation. It was desperation dressed in a uniform.

"Fine," she said, her voice steady. "Let's do it."

⸻

Two hours later, 19:43 IST

Under the dim light of the operations tent, a military clerk slid two marriage forms across the table. The ink was cold, the air colder. Saraswati picked up the pen, her hands steady even as her heart pounded.

Major Rajveer signed first — clean, swift strokes.

Then she did.

Their fingers never touched.

No one clapped. No flowers. No pheras. No promises of forever.

Just a signature, a saluting officer, and a new chapter neither of them had written.

And just like that, Dr. Saraswati Ranjan became Mrs. Thakur.

Not with a kiss, but with a mission.

The tent flap rustled again.

This time, there were no papers to sign. No officers hovering. No false urgency cloaked as command.

Just two people.

Husband and wife.

At least, on paper.

Rajveer stood by the window — if you could call a rectangular slit in the tent a window. His arms were folded behind him, that ever-rigid military posture refusing to relax, even after what they'd just done.

Saraswati stood on the opposite end, still in her surgical scrubs, her hair tied back in a fraying bun. Her face showed no emotion, but her fingers kept rubbing her thumb in slow circles — a quiet tell Rajveer had observed during the mission briefing days ago. She did it when she was overthinking.

He cleared his throat.

"You can sit," he said, nodding toward the steel trunk repurposed as a bench.

"I've been on my feet for thirty-six hours," she replied flatly, walking over. "My legs forgot how to sit."

A beat of silence passed. Rajveer didn't smile — he never really did — but there was the faintest softening in his eyes.

"I didn't mean for it to happen like this," he said.

"No one means to get married in a war zone," she replied, her voice clipped. "Except maybe Bollywood screenwriters."

He looked away. The only light in the tent came from a single hanging bulb swinging in the breeze, casting long shadows that danced like ghosts between them.

"You're angry," he said.

"I'm..." She stopped. "I don't know what I am, Major. We're married. We haven't had a single conversation longer than a debrief. We didn't even shake hands. And now suddenly I'm your wife, and I don't even know if you take sugar in your tea."

Rajveer's eyes met hers. Steady. Calm. Still unreadable.

"I don't drink tea," he said.

She let out a breath. A laugh? Or maybe just a sigh that didn't know what else to be.

"Of course you don't."

He finally turned fully to face her. "I understand this is complicated. But what we've done saved lives tonight."

She looked up. "And what about tomorrow? When command hears about this? When people start asking questions? We faked a marriage for operational cover. That's not something we can just undo."

"I didn't fake anything," Rajveer said quietly.

Her eyes widened. "What?"

"I signed those papers with full awareness. No coercion. No pretending." His voice didn't rise, but it held weight. "You said yes. I said yes. It's not fake. It's real."

Saraswati felt something shift in her chest — a quiet storm beginning to stir. This man... this soldier who rarely spoke more than necessary... had just drawn a line. And she was standing on the other side of it, unsure of which direction to step.

"And what does real mean to you, Major Thakur?"

He didn't answer right away. Instead, he walked over to the wooden crate in the corner and pulled out two mugs. A thermal flask sat next to it — someone had dropped it off during the paperwork frenzy. Coffee.

"I don't drink tea," he repeated, pouring her a cup, "but I know you do."

She accepted the mug slowly. Their fingers didn't touch. Again.

"I remember seeing your thermos once. You had jasmine tea in it," he added. "The whole medical tent smelled like it."

She blinked. That had been nearly a month ago. Before this mission. Before the madness. Before they were tied together by ink and command.

"You noticed that?"

"I notice everything in my zone," he said simply.

Another pause.

Saraswati wrapped her fingers around the mug, drawing warmth. The silence between them wasn't hostile anymore — just awkward. Dense with things unsaid.

"So, what now?" she finally asked. "Are we supposed to... live together? Report to someone? Is there a manual for 'how to be suddenly married in a military base'?"

"No manual," Rajveer replied. "But you'll be moved into officer quarters tomorrow. Just across from mine. For appearance. For safety. Nothing more unless you want it."

Her eyes searched his face. No expectations. No pressure. Just quiet respect. And that scared her more than anything else.

She wasn't used to being taken seriously — as a soldier and a woman. Rajveer, for all his rigidity, never once underestimated her. And now here they were, thrown into a bond forged by urgency, but grounded in something neither of them fully understood yet.

"You don't know anything about me," she said softly, her defenses crumbling, just a little.

"I know enough," he said. "I know you don't back down. I know you saved six men last week alone. I know you asked for extra rations for the junior soldiers. I know you hum when you stitch. I know you've memorized your father's letters and keep one in your left coat pocket."

Her breath caught.

"How do you—?"

"I observe," he said again, his voice low. "Especially the people I trust to keep my team alive."

She didn't respond. Couldn't. For the first time since she signed that paper, she felt the weight of it... and the strange lightness it brought too.

Maybe this wasn't just strategy.

Maybe it was something waiting to unfold.

Saraswati stood, walked toward the tent flap, then paused.

"You might be the only man I know who made marriage feel like a battlefield," she said over her shoulder.

Rajveer didn't flinch. But there was the ghost of a smirk on his lips.

"And you, Dr. Ranjan, are the only woman I know who walked into that battlefield without backup... and won."

She left without another word, the flap swinging behind her.

And for the first time in days, Rajveer let out a breath he didn't know he was holding.