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The dry wind of Oasis wrapped around me like an old memory — warm, familiar, and laced with the scent of sand and sunburnt earth. After months of uniform-clad days, high-stress drills, and sterile military quarters, the sight of my hometown brought an ache I didn’t know I’d missed this deeply.

Fifteen days. That’s all I had. A break from the chaos of field duty. A pause from politics and secrets and things I wasn’t supposed to know yet. And I was going to spend every second of it here — in the only place that still felt untouched by what my life had become.

After a tired journey, beside me, Ma reached for her dupatta, adjusting it like she always did when we arrived in our hometown. Baba stood up, stretching his back with a tired groan. Arjun, of course, was already out the door before the bus could even fully halt, eager as ever.

“Chacha will be here any minute,” Baba muttered, adjusting his duffel bag over his shoulder.

And then we heard it.

A loud, joyful voice familiar, honey-smooth with mischief, shouting from the chaos outside.

"Trisha!"

"Chacha" He tugged me and aryan into side hug, ruffling his hair till Arjun protested.

As we loaded our bags into the dusty white Bolero that had somehow survived every summer of Rajasthan, I felt that tight knot inside me begin to loosen. It wasn’t the kind of grand homecoming stories were made of but it was warm and loud and real.

And as we drove down the familiar road flanked by mustard fields and the wind tangled in my hair and Chacha’s playlist (which hadn’t changed since 2006) blasted through the speaker.

🎵Pardesi Pardesi jaana nhi Pardesi Pardesi jaana nhi Mujhe chhod ke... Mujhe chhod ke

He hummed the song. He is really a sunshine compared to my parents, always brooding and strict. Sourav is lucky to have a cool dad like him.

Then after an hour, I was finally home. As soon as we stepped out of the Bolero, the front door burst open.

“Trishu” came the soft, affectionate voice of my chachi, her dupatta flying behind her as she hurried toward us, a thali in her hands, vermillion tilak already waiting for my forehead.

And behind her—

Dadi.

Regal as ever in her crisp cotton saree, silver hair neatly tied back, eyes gleaming with tears. I bent down to touch her feet, and she placed both hands on my head with a soft. "Meri bacchi."

As I went inside the house, the creak of the wooden staircase. The faint scent of mogra from the garden. The muted hum of the cooler in the corner room.

The scent of ghee, spices, and something unmistakably home. Chachi and dadi had already prepared a feast—bajre ki roti, ker sangri, gatte ki sabzi, papad, and my absolute favorite, dal baati churma.

"Ma I am going to my room to freshen up." I said while climbing the stairs.

"Okay come down quickly. Everybody is waiting for you." She said in her high pitched voice.

I slipped off my shoes near the door and quietly made my way to my room. The one that had yellow walls and that faded poster of guns, tanks and OTA Academy. I refused to take down even after I turned eighteen.

It was just as I remembered.

The bed was made with floral sheets, my bookshelf still stacked with old diaries and dog-eared novels. A photo of me and Arjun as kids. Him with chocolate all over his face and me grinning like a maniac. The photo still stood on the side table.

I smiled. Peeling off my travel-wrinkled kurta, I freshened up quickly. Washed my face, tied my hair into a ponytail even though I have short hair and changed into something simple and comfortable a soft cotton t shirt and a pant.

As I stepped into the living room, I didn’t even get the chance to blink before Dadi’s eyes narrowed sharply.

“Yeh kya hai, Trisha?” Her voice sliced through the chatter, silencing the room.

I blinked, confused until I looked down and realized my half sleeves t shirt didn't try to cover the bandage. I totally forgot about the bandage, revealing the bandage wrapped tightly around my upper arm. Now I have to answer why Trisha? How could you be so irresponsible?

Before I could adjust it. Chachi rushed toward me.

“Arre re! Yeh chot kaise lagi? Kisne kiya yeh?” Her tone really tensed.

Chacha stood behind her, brows furrowed, no longer the unserious mode from five minutes ago. “Trishu, beta... yeh hua kaise?”

Dadi had already risen from her seat and made her way over holding my face in her wrinkled palms. “Tu theek toh hai na, bachchi? Bata na... kisne kiya yeh?”

I opened my mouth to respond but the questions kept pouring in overlapping like thunderclouds.

“Ladai hui kya?”

“Kahin giri toh nahi?”

“Ye toh bandage hospital ka lagta hai—”

“Bas karo sab,” I finally intervened calm but firm. “Chot lagi thi. We got it checked, it’s healing now.”

"Haa dadi. Nothing major. Di got involved in the wrong place at the wrong time, as always.” Aryan said from the other side.

Thank God. He saved me today. The tension in the air loosened just a bit.

Dadi still looked at me like I was made of glass. “Choti si hai abhi bhi. Aur dekho, zakhm le ke aayi hai.”

I smiled taking her hand. “Main bilkul theek hoon, Dadi. Promise. Ab toh ghar aa gayi hoon na.”

They reluctantly let it go but I knew this would come up again probably during dinner.

For now though, the smell of hot rotis and ghee-soaked baati pulled us all toward the lunch table.

The moment I sat down at the table, the aroma hit me like a wave, steaming hot baati soaked in ghee, spicy dal, garlic chutney, ker sangri, gatte ki sabzi, and that perfectly crispy moong dal chilla Chachi always made just for me.

I didn’t wait for formalities. I grabbed the baati, broke it with one hand and let the ghee drizzle over it like a long-lost lover. My fingers moved fast, tearing, dipping, and stuffing my mouth with everything in reach. The spices danced on my tongue like they'd missed me.

I hadn’t eaten like this in weeks or months maybe. Instant noodles, stale bread and reheated sabzi had become my staple back at the quarter. Proper meals were a luxury I never had the time or the will to make.

By the time I looked up, six pairs of eyes were staring at me. I stopped at mid feeling embarassed as I didn't wait for them.

Aryan, of course, had to ruin it.

“Did they starve you in that base camp or did you start a hunger strike for world peace?”

I shot him a glare. "Sorry. Aap log bhi khaye na." And I smiled embarrassingly.

Chachi finally broke the silence. “Trisha, tu sach mein kuch khaati bhi hai wahan?”

Maa nodded knowingly. “Bas kaam karti rehti hai. Maine kaha bhi tha—”

“I eat when I can,” I interrupted, swallowing another mouthful. “Yeh sab toh milta hi nahi wahan.”

Dadi patted my head, her eyes soft. “Toh reh ja yahan. Roz banwaungi tere liye.”

I smiled at her words, warm and full—finally. Not just from the food, but from being home.

A minute later, I looked around. “Waise... where’s Sourav?”

Chachi smiled. "He went to college and he'll be back by 4 pm.

And after few minutes, the lunch was over. Post lunch, her mother serve gulab jamun for each of them and told her, "Your friend Anvi is coming to meet you."

"Kab?" I looked at her. "Evening" my mother replied. She is my childhood friend. I am really excited to meet her after so many months. I have to tell her all my secrets and gossips piled up during these months.

After the comforting lunch and chatter around the desert, I could feel the weight of exhaustion pulling at me. Maa noticed, of course. She always did.

"Go to sleep for a while. You're tired." She said softly.

I nodded wordlessly and climbed the stairs to my room.

It was just as I’d left it clean, structured, and sparse. No fairy lights. No frills. Just a neat bed, a wooden study table, a cabinet stacked with journals and field notebooks. My medals and certificates were framed above the desk, their shine a contrast to the otherwise bare walls.

I removed my ponytail and my hair fall down till the shoulder. The mattress hugged me instantly, a sense of comfort pressing against my spine. My eyes shut almost instantly. Sleep came quickly.

But peace never really lasts, does it?

The dream returned.

I am locked in a dark room. My body was soaked with the sweat. He was there. The masked man again.

My fists clenched. I didn’t hesitate, I just launched at him. My punch grazed his jaw and he moved like smoke fast, fluid too damn smooth. His eyes locked with mine and something in my gut twisted.

We fought. I kicked. He blocked. I elbowed. He countered. His grip finally caught my wrist and twisted it just enough to make me stumble.

And then he spoke in his smooth and deep voice.

“Stop running.”

I jerked awake with a gasp and my heart hammering against my chest. The sheets are tangled around my legs. I sat up, sweat clinging to my neck despite the cool fan breeze. My bandaged arm throbbed in sync with my heart.

What the hell was that?

When will he stop chasing me?

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