Chapter 19: Two Worlds, One Heart

Soft morning light filtered through the gauzy curtains, painting golden stripes across the bed.

Riya stirred slowly, her breath rising and falling in sync with the chest she lay on. The steady thump beneath her ear was the only sound in the room—steady, grounding, familiar.

Kabir.

He was already awake, and ready in his combat uniform, lying motionless on his back, staring at the ceiling as if it held answers to questions he couldn’t ask aloud.

Riya’s eyes fluttered open. She blinked sleepily and looked up at him, her voice hushed and cautious.

“You’re still mad?”

His eyes didn’t shift, but he gave a quiet response, almost like he didn’t want to wake the moment.

“I’m leaving. Got called in early.”

That was all.

No sarcasm.

No anger.

Just… distance.

She rose up on one elbow, gently placing a hand on his chest.

“Then at least fight with me properly. Don’t go like this. Not in silence.”

Kabir finally turned his gaze towards her. There was conflict in his eyes—guilt, fear, love—all tangled in ways he couldn’t explain.

“I need to tell you something…” Riya began softly, her voice careful. “Something I should’ve told you earlier.”

Kabir’s body tensed slightly. His heart quickened in dread.

She reached to the drawer and pulled out the now-crumpled envelopes and photographs—the ones she had hidden for weeks.

Kabir sat up, brows knitting as she handed them over. His hands trembled slightly as he unfolded the first letter.

Line after line of veiled threats.

Words that crawled like poison across the paper.

Kabir’s chest tightened, rage rising like a wave he couldn’t control.

“Riya…” His voice was dangerously low. “You’ve been receiving these! And you didn’t tell me?”

“I was scared,” she admitted. “You already believed I wasn’t built for this life. I was afraid if I told you, you’d ask me to quit. That you’d think I can’t handle it.”

Kabir slammed the last letter onto the bed, standing up, running a hand through his hair in frustration.

“You think I wouldn’t worry?! That I wouldn’t fight for you?”

“I know you would. That’s why I didn’t tell you.”

That stopped him.

She looked up at him, eyes glistening. “Because you protect me too much, Kabir. And I love that. I really do. But I’m not made of glass. And you—you go on missions, face death a dozen times more than I do. I never ask you to stop.”

Kabir’s mouth opened, then closed again.

“Your job is dangerous,” she whispered, standing up. “So is mine. And maybe I’m new at this, but that doesn’t mean I can’t learn. I respect what you do. All I ask is that you respect what I’m trying to do too.”

That hit him hard.

Kabir looked down, his breath heavy.

A long pause followed.

Then, in a rare moment of complete vulnerability, he stepped forward and cupped her face gently.

“I an sorry. I was wrong,” he said. “I judged too quickly. You’re stronger than I gave you credit for, Riya. Stronger than me, even. I’m sorry.”

Riya’s lips trembled. But this time, she smiled.

“I’m not asking you to stop worrying. I just want you to stand with me… even when I fall.”

Kabir nodded, pulling her into a hug—tight, grounding, full of a thousand silent promises.

After a moment, Kabir pulled back, wiping a tear from her cheek and smiling.

“But next time, no secrets. From either of us. Deal?”

“Deal,” she whispered.

“And,” he added dramatically, “I propose a new survival pact.”

Riya blinked. “A what?”

Kabir grinned. “Only one of us is allowed to risk their life at a time.”

She laughed through her tears. “Are you serious?”

“As a bullet wound,” he said, pointing to his bandaged ribs. “We’ll take turns. This week, I almost died, you walked into hell to meet that Pathan Kaka, done for the week, so next time—it’s my turn.”

“Pathan Lala, Kabir!”, she hit his forehead, laughing.

“Deal?”

“Deal!”

She chuckled but then suddenly paused. Her eyes squinted at his arm.

“Wait a second…”

Kabir blinked. “What?”

Riya turned in his arms, her fingers poking his forearm like an investigator on a mission. “Kabir, are you getting tanned?”

He looked down at his arms. “Well, yeah. I’m literally outdoors in a uniform all day. What did you expect, moisturized moonlight?”

“No, but the sunscreen I gave you!” she said dramatically, standing up to inspect him like a lab specimen. “Do you even use it? Clearly not!”

Kabir gave her a mock offended look. “I’m a commando, Riya. Not a beauty influencer. I can’t be in the middle of a covert mission going, ‘Hold fire, mujhe SPF 50 lagani hai!’”

She burst out laughing. “Well, maybe if you did, your nose wouldn’t look like a roasted papad!”

He gasped. “Excuse you! This is the nose of national security.”

“Oh please!” she teased, pulling out a tube of sunscreen from her bag and tossing it at him. “You’re using this from now on.”

He caught it mid-air. “And what if I don’t?”

She folded her arms. “Then I’ll do it for you. In public. Loudly. With commentary.”

“Okay! Fine!”, Kabir stood defeated.

Riya poured a small amount of the lotion on his palm and he started applying it on his face.

“On your cheeks too!”, Riya instructed him as she observed him closely.

“Clock-wise or anticlockwise?”, he asked, to tease her.

Riya rolled her eyes.

“And please let go off these cargo pants! For heaven’s sake!”

“Hey,” he said, mock defensive. “Those cargo pants have saved lives.”

“They’ve also killed fashion,” she quipped.

He chuckled, letting his eyes flutter shut for a moment, soaking in the warmth of her presence, as she folded a spare T-shirt into his bag.

“Do you have your charger?” Riya asked, not looking up.

“Yup.”

“Wallet?”

“In the bag.”

He chuckled, walking up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and resting his chin on her shoulder. They both stood like that for a moment—quiet, warm.

But then he sighed.

Riya narrowed her eyes through the mirror. “Okay, what’s that sigh about?”

Kabir hesitated. “I… may have done something last night.”

Riya turned to face him fully. “What something?”

“It’s… something you’re going to be mad about,” he admitted, scratching the back of his head sheepishly. “I didn’t mean to—It was impulsive. Emotional. And yeah, a little reckless.”

Riya stepped back, narrowing her eyes. “You better start talking before my imagination starts writing its own crime thriller.”

Kabir raised his hands like a guilty puppy. “Listen, it’s not what you’re thinking—”

“You kissed someone?!”

“NO! What?! No!” Kabir’s eyes widened in horror. “Riya!”

“Affair!”

“Noooooo! Tune mujhe kis type ka character smjha h!”, Kabir shut her mouth with his palm.

“You’ll find out on your own, very soon! I’m not telling you! Bye!”

“You’re not leaving me hanging like this. This isn’t a TV serial, Kabir.”, Riya shouted watching him pick up his bag.

He leaned in, brushing a kiss to her forehead.

“I know. But if I told you, you’d kill me before the enemy got the chance.”

Riya narrowed her eyes again. “You’re not cheating on me, right?”

Kabir gasped. “Riya!”

“Just checking,” she smirked. “You are ridiculously handsome, and you do this flirty squint with your eyes—”, she tried to copy him.

Kabir laughed and pulled her cheeks.

“Do not flatter me while interrogating me, woman.”

“I will keep flattering until you break and confess,” Riya declared dramatically.

Kabir groaned. “You’re evil.”

She grinned. “You love it.”

“Getting late! Bye!”. He squeezed her in a tight hug and ran out.

“Kabir!!!”, Riya called.

With one last glance, Kabir left.

He smiled. But the flicker of guilt in his eyes didn’t fade as he turned and left.

And Riya stood by the door, hand on the knob, smiling softly.

--

The corridor echoed faintly as Riya walked into the briefing room, a slim file tucked under her arm—her study notes for the upcoming internal test. Her steps were quiet, but deliberate. She didn’t expect warmth. Not from him.

Arjun sat at his desk, head in hand, brows pinched together like they were holding back a storm. Files were scattered across the table—each one a new burden. The pain in his head had now moved behind his eyes, pounding like a war drum.

His back was to her, but his voice greeted her before his eyes did.

“Back from the emotional leave?”

The words sliced through the room like ice.

Riya paused for half a second. Then answered evenly, “I was never on leave.”

Arjun turned, eyebrow arching in faint surprise—but what caught his attention wasn’t her voice. It was the thick envelope in her hand, which she laid down firmly on the desk between them.

“These—” she began, her voice steady “—were being sent to me. I didn’t know who to tell.”

She unfolded the letters one by one—threats scribbled in uneven handwriting, pictures printed on cheap paper. The red marks, the words that promised she’d be next.

Arjun picked one up, his face still unreadable… but the tension in his jaw betrayed him. His already bad head ache, worsening. His fingers crumpled the edge of the page ever so slightly.

“When?” he asked lowly, though he already knew the answer.

Riya didn’t let him finish the question. “Before the mock drill.”

Arjun exhaled, a dangerous calm in his voice.

“And you thought keeping them to yourself was a smart move?”

He wasn’t yelling, not yet. But his tone had enough edge to cut through concrete.

“I was scared,” Riya replied honestly, “scared you’d throw me out for causing trouble. You’ve made it clear you don’t think I belong here.”

Something flashed across Arjun’s eyes—guilt, maybe, or something darker. But he masked it too fast.

“You risked your life,” he said sharply. “Again. Do you even understand what that means?”

His voice broke for a second—just a second—but he recovered fast.

“You think this is bravery? Hiding danger? Walking into it blind?”

“I didn’t walk into anything,” Riya said, a little louder now. “I was doing my job. And I didn’t want to be seen as weak. Not in a team that sees me as a liability just for existing.”

Arjun said nothing.

His eyes were on the paper, but his mind… it was somewhere else.

She looked at him—really looked—and saw it: the conflict etched into his features, the questions unspoken. The wall he kept rebuilding every time she chipped at it.

“I didn’t mean to shut you—or anyone—out.” Her voice dropped again, softer now. “But sometimes, silence is the only armour we have left when no one really wants to hear us.”

For a long moment, the room was frozen in stillness.

Arjun finally placed the letters back on the desk.

Neatly.

Carefully.

He said nothing.

Nothing.

Just silence.

The kind that echoed louder than screams.

Riya waited.

Waited for a nod.

A word.

A sign.

None came.

So she blinked back the sting in her eyes, turned, and walked away slowly—her footsteps as heavy as her heart.

From behind, Arjun watched her go—his chest tight, his jaw clenched, his head throbbing. He wanted to say something. Anything.

But he didn’t.

Because saying something meant caring.

And caring… meant risk.

And Arjun Rawte wasn’t ready for that.

Not again.

Not when the last time cost him everything.

--

Riya sat alone in the record room, lost in thought. In front of her, the ETF team was busy in their new case- one which she wasn’t a part of, again. But her mind was elsewhere.

“Kabir, with all his flaws… still makes space for my fears. And then there is this, ACP Arjun…who hides his behind anger and silence.”

She looked towards Arjun through the glass door—he was standing by the whiteboard, slamming another file at the desk, staring at the threat letters, rubbing his forehead.

“One holds me close to protect me. The other pushes me away... may be… for the same reason.”

Her psychologist mind was churning.

--

Ten minutes later.

Arjun stepped out of the cabin to get a cup of his cutting chai.

When he returned, something small sat on the corner of his desk.

A tiny jar of pain balm.

And a sticky note.

He read it:

“FOR: Your headache.

Because slamming case files on desks won’t make it go away.

FROM: The cause of your headache—You're welcome.”

His eyes narrowed. A muscle twitched at his jaw. For a moment, he stared at the balm like it had personally offended him. Then—without a word—he slid it into the drawer.

But minutes later, when the pounding refused to fade…

He opened the drawer.

Uncapped the balm.

Rubbed it onto his temples.

The scent hit immediately—strong, minty, nostalgic.

And suddenly the cabin felt warmer.

--

Kabir stood inside a café, face partially hidden under a cap, scanning a paper passed to him by an old informer. The man’s hand trembled slightly.

“They’re bringing it in through the western coast. South of Mumbai. Night operation. Large consignment.”

Kabir’s jaw tightened. “Drugs?”

The informer nodded.

“Sure?”

“I think so. It’s all quiet… too quiet. Which means they’re planning something big.”

Kabir slipped the man an envelope and walked out, his mind already racing.

--

Later that evening, inside the ETF elevator, the doors were closing just as Riya stepped in. She froze for a heartbeat when she realized—Arjun was already inside.

She gave him a side glance. Silence stretched between them, laced with the strong aroma of… eucalyptus balm.

Riya smirked, trying not to laugh.

“So… headache better?”

Arjun cleared his throat, stiffly.

“I didn’t use that stupid balm, if that’s what you’re implying.”

Riya grinned now.

“Of course.”

Arjun glanced at her, annoyed—those eyes shimmering with mischief, lips pressed tight to hold back a laugh, that barely-contained sparkle she never could hide.

He looked away instantly, jaw tightening, focus snapping to the elevator doors.

The moment they slid open with a ding, he stepped out in a hurry—like a man fleeing from his own thoughts before they betrayed him.

“Someone’s learning to lie worse than me… and with an ego that oversized,” Riya chuckled to herself, shaking her head as the elevator doors closed.

Meanwhile, in the parking lot, Arjun muttered under his breath,

“She leaves a stupid balm, and now I smell like a walking eucalyptus tree…”

He scowled—more at himself than her.

Annoyed… but not entirely.

Because headache gone.

And the one who caused it… also, strangely, cured it.

Arjun turned his car’s ignition on, when his phone buzzed.

Rathore.

He stood immediately and walked out to the

“Rathore.”

“Raute. I’ll be back soon.”

Arjun’s eyes narrowed. “How soon?”

“You sound thrilled.” Rathore’s voice was dry. “What’s happening in the office?”

“Nothing we can’t handle,” Arjun replied too quickly.

There was a pause on the line. Rathore caught the hesitation. “You sure?”

“Sir… everything’s under control.” Arjun ended the call before Rathore could push further.

--

The military jeep bounced across the dusty road, the sun dipping low behind him, bathing the barren terrain in burnt orange.

Kabir sat in the passenger seat, elbow perched on the open window, fingers absently tapping his thigh. His mind wasn’t on the mission briefing echoing from the back seat. It was on her.

Riya.

He stared at his phone for the tenth time that hour. The screen was dark, but her face played in his memory like sunlight on calm water—smiling, fiery, hurt, brave. That last expression haunted him most.

He unlocked the phone anyway, reading her last message again. Nothing new. Just a picture of a cupcake with a cheesy quote. “Even burnt sugar can be sweet sometimes.” She’d written.

He smiled. Then exhaled slowly, as if that breath could carry the ache out of him.

He tucked the phone away and looked out.

The wind hit his face, but it couldn’t cool the turmoil building inside him.

“You’re my world, Riya. There’s no way I’d let anything—or anyone—hurt you… not even myself.”

And yet… hadn’t he done just that?

He was so hell-bent on shielding her from the battlefield, so obsessed with keeping her safe, that he didn’t realise—

She was already at war.

With isolation.

With judgment.

With fear she never voiced.

And worst of all—she hadn’t turned to him.

Because of him.

Because his own fear had built a wall so high, she thought she had to face it all alone.

She didn’t tell him about the threat letters.

Didn’t ask for his help.

And all he could think was—what if something had happened?

What if he had never known?

What if she had vanished from his life—and he was left piecing together the truth from a pile of regrets?

His silence had kept her at arm’s length.

And now… that distance had nearly cost him the one person he couldn’t afford to lose.

--

The sandbag swung back violently withevery punch.

Arjun stood alone in the training room of his private quarters—his sanctuary and battleground. Sweat clung to his skin, his shirt soaked through, hair sticking to his forehead.

The rhythmic thud-thud-thud of his fists slamming into the heavy bag echoed through the silence, a metronome of his inner storm. Again. And again. Until skin split and knuckles bled.

His chest rose and fell with short furious breaths.

“Why do you keep walking into storms I’ve seen destroy people far stronger than you?”

Riya’s face flared before his eyes—tear-streaked, defiant, quiet.

That silence.

That silence… it screamed louder than anything she could have said.

He had pushed her away, over and over. Called her reckless, a liability. Scoffed at her bravery. Undermined her at every turn. Not because she was weak. But because she was strong enough to scare him.

And yet she kept walking into fire.

For the truth.

She had faced Pathan Lala. Alone. She’d hidden the threat letters, not because she was reckless—but because she was scared they’d cast her out for being a burden.

Because they’d made her feel like one.

His fists slowed. The punching bag swayed gently now as he leaned forward, resting his forehead against the leather, breath coming in ragged gasps—each one filled with guilt.

Every woman I’ve cared about… Roshni. Sakshi. Ayesha. Lisa…

And now Riya.

She wasn’t supposed to matter. Not like this. But she did.

And in trying to protect her the only way he knew—through distance, through coldness—he had become the very reason she got hurt. His silence had pushed her closer to the fire, not away from it.

“Maybe… maybe if we had kept her close,” he muttered under his breath. “If we’d told her the truth… guided her instead of shutting her out—”

His voice broke.

“Maybe then, we could’ve protected her.”

But they hadn’t. He hadn’t.

Because he thought pushing her away was safer than pulling her close.

He ripped the bloodied wraps from his hands and flung them across the room, fury and failure choking him like smoke.

He still didn’t believe she was built for this job—this brutality. But she deserved the chance to prove it.

A fair chance.

Not cold shoulders and closed doors.

Because now... she’d already been burned.

And still, she kept walking into the storm.

Not to be a hero.

But to belong.

And he had made her fight for it harder than anyone else.

He leaned back against the wall, eyes stinging with sweat and something deeper. No answers came.

Only the bitter truth:

She had found a place in his heart before he ever gave her permission to.

And now, every word he’d used to push her away?

They echoed like knives in his own chest.

--

The hotel room was dim.

She lay curled on the couch, still in her work clothes. Her hair clung to her damp forehead. The TV flickered quietly in the background, a soft hum of life in a space that felt anything but alive.

The dim light of the room didn’t touch the storm on her face, as she scribbled on her journal pages. Her eyes were dry, but only because the tears had been shed long before the silence came.

“I didn’t want to be seen as weak,” she whispered, her voice barely a breath. “Not by Kabir. Not by Arjun sir. Not by anyone.”

There was no one to answer her, only the distant hum of traffic outside and the low whirr of the ceiling fan. She drew in a sharp breath, swallowing the emotion building in her chest.

“Kabir… he tries to protect me. Like I’m glass. Like I’ll shatter if the wind blows too hard. But he doesn’t see I chose this life, knowing exactly what it would demand of me.”

Her fingers curled tighter around her pen. Her eyes welled up, but she blinked it all away with practiced control.

“And Arjun Sir…” Her eyes darkened.

“He looks at me like I don’t belong. Like I’m a burden to be carried or tossed aside. Like I got here by accident. But he doesn’t know what I’ve given up to be here. What I fight every single day just to stay.”

She stared ahead, blankly at first—but slowly, that emptiness flickered into resolve.

“I don’t want pity. I don’t need approval. I’m not doing this to prove anything to them anymore.”

She uncurled her legs slowly, rising from the floor. Her hands trembled as she smoothed her hair and wiped the single tear that escaped.

“I’ll prove it to myself first. And the rest of the world can watch.”

She walked to the mirror, looked herself in the eyes—and for the first time in days, didn’t look away.

Not weak.

Not invisible.

Just unfinished.

And that was enough… for now.

Everyone had left a mark.

Kabir—with his love, his fears, his intensity.

Arjun—with his silence, his fire, his walls.

And her?

“Who was she becoming between the two storms?”

“Was it supposed to be this hard to prove your worth?”

“To prove that you are capable enough!”

Between a man who held her too close, and a man who pushed her too far.

She wiped her cheek, barely noticing the tears.

Her gaze fell on the evaluation form lying open on the side table.

Tomorrow’s test.

Some mission.

She’d keep going.

Because if love didn’t kill her, purpose might just save her.

Still…

“I wonder,” she whispered into the emptiness,

“between love and distance…

“Which one truly protects the heart?”

--

The city lights blinked softly outside.

The night, again, held three hearts in its palm.

One bleeding.

One burning.

One breaking.

And none brave enough to admit—

They were all aching for the same person.