A Mission of Love (and Suffering)
The Emergency Task Force (ETF) headquarters was buzzing with activity. Papers shuffled, keyboards clacked, and Rathore’s stern voice echoed across the room as he assigned tasks. But none of that mattered to Riya Mukherjee right now.
Because right now, her entire focus was on one thing.
Arjun Suryakant Rawte.
The senior ETF officer, known for his brooding silence and emotionally unavailable attitude, sat at his desk, sipping black coffee as if it was the elixir of life. His usual expression was a mix of annoyance and deep, philosophical brooding, as if he was constantly thinking about crime, justice, and existential dilemmas all at once.
Riya sighed, tapping her pen against her notepad. Why did he always look like he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders? Someone needed to tell this man that cracking a joke wouldn’t make him any less of a police officer.
Just then, Rathore’s commanding voice pulled her out of her thoughts.
“Humare paas ek naye case ki information aayi hai.” (We’ve received new case information.)
Arjun straightened in his chair, his jaw tightening. “Kya case hai?” (What’s the case?)
Rathore tossed a file onto the table. “Diamond smuggling. Ek high-profile businessman apne club ka istemal kar raha hai illegal deals ke liye. Problem yeh hai ki humare paas koi solid evidence nahi hai.” (A high-profile businessman is using his club for illegal deals. The problem is, we don’t have solid evidence.)
Riya flipped through the file. “Toh humein wahan jaake investigate karna hoga?” (So we have to go there and investigate?)
Shree, the ETF’s tech expert, grinned. “Bingo, Riya. Par sirf investigate nahi karna, undercover bhi jaana hoga.” (Bingo, Riya. But not just investigate, you’ll have to go undercover too.)
Chotu smirked, crossing his arms. “Aur undercover jaane ka best tareeka kya ho sakta hai?” (And what’s the best way to go undercover?)
Riya blinked. “Kya?” (What?)
Shree’s grin widened. “Ek couple banke.” (As a couple.)
Riya’s brain short-circuited. “Kya?! Main aur… Arjun sir?!” (What?! Me and… Arjun sir?!)
Arjun’s reaction was pure gold. His coffee cup froze mid-air, his grip tightening around it like he was about to crush it with sheer willpower. He turned his head slowly, his expression a mix of disbelief, horror, and irritation.
Rathore smirked, clearly enjoying this. “Haan, Rawte. Tum dono ko couple ban kar jaana hoga. Yeh club sirf couples ko entry deta hai. Tum dono wahan jaake dekhoge ki andar kya ho raha hai.” (Yes, Rawte. You both have to go as a couple. This club only allows couples entry. You two will go inside and observe what’s happening.)
Arjun exhaled sharply, placing his coffee cup down with a little too much force. “Main kisi aur ke saath nahi ja sakta?” (Can’t I go with someone else?)
Rathore raised an eyebrow. “Chotu ke saath jaana chahte ho?” (Do you want to go with Chotu instead?)
Chotu instantly held up his hands. “Sir, mujhe maaf karo. Mujhe couples’ club nahi jaana.” (Sir, forgive me. I don’t want to go to a couples’ club.)
Shree snickered. “Arre waah, Arjun sir! Aaj toh aapko romance bhi karna padega!” (Wow, Arjun sir! Today you’ll have to do romance too!)
Arjun shot him a death glare that could’ve melted steel. “Chup karo, Shree.” (Shut up, Shree.)
Riya, meanwhile, was internally panicking. Being on a mission with Arjun sir was one thing, but pretending to be his girlfriend?! How was she supposed to act all lovey-dovey with a man who treated emotions like they were a crime against humanity?
She swallowed. “M-magar sir… main… kaise?” (B-but sir… how?)
Rathore smirked. “Itna mat socho, Mukherjee. Bas apne andar ki actress jagao.” (Don’t think too much, Mukherjee. Just awaken the actress inside you.)
Riya wanted to bang her head against the desk.
Arjun sighed in frustration. “Fine.”
And just like that, Operation Undercover Lovebirds was a go.
The club was extravagant—dimly lit with chandeliers, plush seating, and a dance floor where couples swayed romantically. The air smelled of expensive perfume and crime.
Arjun and Riya walked in together, and immediately, she could feel the stares. She was dressed in a maroon dress that was way outside her comfort zone, while Arjun had ditched his usual black shirts for a formal deep blue suit.
And boy, did he look dangerously good.
Riya cleared her throat, shaking the thought away. This was work.
A waiter approached them. “Good evening, sir, ma’am. Are you here for dinner or just drinks?”
Arjun’s jaw tightened. “Dono.” (Both.)
Riya, remembering their cover, immediately looped her arm through his, plastering on a lovesick smile. “Haan, actually hum dono newly married hain!” (Yes, actually, we’re newly married!)
Arjun’s hand clenched into a fist. “Kya?!” (What?!)
Riya discreetly stepped on his foot. “Haan na, jaanu?” (Yes, right, darling?)
Arjun sucked in a breath, his entire being screaming that he wanted to throw her into interrogation for this crime against his dignity. But with everyone watching, he had no choice.
He forced a stiff smile. “Haan. Bilkul.” (Yes. Absolutely.)
Shree’s voice crackled in their hidden earpiece. “Wah Arjun sir, aapke expressions se toh pyaar jhalak raha hai.” (Wow, Arjun sir, your expressions are overflowing with love.)
Arjun took a deep breath. He was not going to kill his teammates. Not today.
They were led to a private table. The moment the waiter left, Arjun turned to Riya, his voice low and full of menace. “Naya kya hai tumhare dimag mein?” (What new nonsense is in your mind?)
Riya smiled innocently. “Arre sir, undercover hai toh thoda realistic toh lagna padega na?” (Sir, we’re undercover, so we have to make it look realistic, right?)
Arjun rubbed his temples. This was going to be a long night.
To make matters worse, their suspect—a wealthy businessman—was watching them. If they wanted to blend in, they had to act more couple-like.
Riya grinned mischievously. “Arjun sir… dance?”
Arjun looked horrified. “No.”
Riya grabbed his hand. “Yes.”
Before he could protest, she dragged him to the dance floor. Soft romantic music played as she placed his hand on her waist. Arjun stiffened like a board.
“Relax, sir. Main kaatungi nahi.” (Relax, sir. I won’t bite.)
Arjun exhaled. “Tumse zyada dangerous koi nahi hai.” (No one is more dangerous than you.)
She laughed. “Shukriya.” (Thank you.)
And as they swayed, Riya couldn’t help but think… Maybe, just maybe, this undercover mission wasn’t so bad after all.
***
Arjun Suryakant Rawte did not do romance.
He did not do soft, swaying movements. He did not do hushed whispers and stolen glances. And he certainly did not do candlelit dance floors where pyaar bhari nazar (love-filled stares) were expected.
Yet, here he was.
On a dimly lit dance floor. With Riya Mukherjee in his arms.
Her hand rested lightly on his shoulder while his hovered awkwardly over her waist, barely touching the fabric of her dress. He could feel her warmth beneath his fingertips, a foreign sensation that made his muscles tense.
“Sir,” Riya whispered, tilting her head up to look at him. “Aise mat khade rahiye jaise aapko koi punishment mili ho.” (Sir, don’t stand like you’re being punished.)
Arjun clenched his jaw, his grip on her hand tightening slightly. “Mujhe punishment mili hai.” (I am being punished.)
Riya stifled a laugh. “Sir, undercover mission ka ek rule hota hai—convincing banna. Ab aapko lag raha hai ki hum couple lag rahe hain?” (Sir, there’s a rule in undercover missions—be convincing. Do you think we look like a couple right now?)
Arjun sighed. No, they probably looked like two awkward co-workers forced into a shaadi ka laddu situation.
Before he could respond, Riya did the unthinkable—she shifted closer, placing her free hand on his chest and looking up at him with wide, adoring eyes.
Arjun’s breath caught for exactly one second before his rational brain kicked in.
“What the hell are you doing?” he hissed, his body going rigid.
Riya’s lips twitched. “Acting.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Bahut zyada acting kar rahi ho.” (You’re acting too much.)
She batted her eyelashes. “Toh aap bhi kar lijiye na, sir. Waise bhi, jitna aap hero bante hain, ek baar romantic hero bhi ban ke dekh lijiye.” (Then you should act too, sir. Anyway, since you always act like a hero, try being a romantic hero just once.)
Arjun let out a short, annoyed breath through his nose. “Main kisi bhi tarah ka hero nahi hoon.” (I’m not any kind of hero.)
Riya grinned, stepping even closer until there was barely an inch between them. “Lekin log toh yeh hi samajhte hain.” (But people think you are.)
Arjun had two options—
- Push Riya away and ruin their cover.
- Play along and suffer.
Before he could make his decision, their suspect—high-profile businessman Rohit Singhania—glanced in their direction. The man’s suspicious eyes locked onto them, observing.
Arjun clenched his jaw.
Suffer it is.
Gritting his teeth, he reluctantly placed his hand firmly on Riya’s waist, pulling her even closer until there was zero space between them.
Riya stiffened, her breath hitching. She had not expected that.
Arjun leaned in slightly, his lips near her ear. “Ab toh khush?” (Happy now?)
Riya swallowed, her heart suddenly thudding in her chest. “Uh… haan.” (Uh… yeah.)
And for the first time in her life, Riya Mukherjee was speechless.
Arjun smirked. If he had to suffer, he would make sure she suffered too.
Back at the surveillance van parked outside, Shree and Chotu were having the time of their lives.
Shree had practically abandoned all serious investigative duties, his entire focus now on the tiny surveillance screen broadcasting Arjun and Riya’s dance.
Chotu snorted. “Bhai, yeh toh unexpected tha.” (Bro, this was unexpected.)
Shree grinned. “Mujhe toh laga tha ki Arjun sir Riya ko dance floor pe chhod kar chale jaayenge. Par yeh toh…” (I thought Arjun sir would leave Riya on the dance floor. But this is…)
Chotu completed the sentence for him. “...pura Bollywood romance ho gaya.” (...a full Bollywood romance.)
They both snickered.
Rathore, who had been silently listening, finally lost his patience.
“Tum dono apni bakwaas band karoge ya nahi?” (Will you two stop your nonsense or not?)
Shree immediately straightened up, clearing his throat. “Sir, hum toh bas… surveillance… uh… track kar rahe the.” (Sir, we were just… uh… tracking surveillance.)
Rathore rolled his eyes. “Shree, agar tumhe kaam karna hai toh karo. Warna main tumhe undercover waiter bana ke bhej dunga.” (Shree, if you want to work, do it. Otherwise, I’ll send you in as an undercover waiter.)
Shree gulped. “Nahi sir! Bilkul nahi sir! Main kaam kar raha hoon sir!” (No sir! Absolutely not sir! I’m working, sir!)
Rathore sighed, rubbing his temples. “Mujhe kyun lagta hai ki yeh mission sirf case solve karne se zyada kisi aur cheez ka reason banne waala hai?” (Why do I feel like this mission will end up being about something other than solving the case?)
Chotu grinned. “Sir, aap bhi na… bas Arjun sir ki shaadi pakki samjho.” (Sir, you too… just consider Arjun sir’s wedding confirmed.)
Rathore’s smirk was small. But it was there.
“Dekhte hain.” (Let’s see.)
Riya was having fun.
No, correction—she was having the time of her life.
Because seeing Arjun Rawte suffer was an opportunity she wouldn’t waste.
They had returned to their table after the dance, and Arjun had never looked more exhausted in his entire ETF career.
“Bas, ho gaya?” Arjun muttered, picking up his glass of water. “Yeh mission mujhe mentally traumatize kar dega.” (That’s it? Are we done? This mission is going to traumatize me mentally.)
Riya smirked. “Sir, abhi toh shuruat hai.” (Sir, this is just the beginning.)
Just then, a voice interrupted them.
“Oh, how cute!”
Both Arjun and Riya turned their heads toward the new interruption.
It was a woman. A very glamorous woman, with too much perfume and not enough fabric on her dress. She had long, curled hair and an expression that screamed, I get whatever I want.
And right now, her eyes were locked onto Arjun.
Riya instantly disliked her.
The woman smiled. “I saw you two dancing. You both look adorable together.”
Arjun gave a short nod, his expression unreadable. “Thanks.”
The woman leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand. “But tell me one thing, handsome—” she completely ignored Riya, “—what’s your name?”
Riya’s left eye twitched.
Arjun, unfortunately, remained oblivious to the incoming storm. “Arjun.”
The woman grinned. “Nice name. So, Arjun… are you free for another dance?”
Riya slammed her hand onto the table.
“Nahi.” (No.)
The woman blinked. “Excuse me?”
Riya wrapped her hand around Arjun’s arm possessively. “Mere pati ke saath dance karna hai? Pehle mujhe poochna padega.” (You want to dance with my husband? You’ll have to ask me first.)
Arjun nearly choked on air.
The woman’s face fell. “Oh. You’re married?”
Riya smiled sweetly. “Haan. Aur happily.” (Yes. And happily.)
The woman scowled, muttered something under her breath, and walked away.
Riya turned back to Arjun, flashing him an innocent grin. “Bas, ho gaya.” (That’s it, all done.)
Arjun just stared at her, completely and utterly baffled.
And for the first time in his life,
ACP Arjun Suryakant Rawte… had no words.
***
Arjun Suryakant Rawte had faced deadly criminals, psycho killers, bomb blasts, and near-death situations in his career. But nothing—absolutely nothing—could have prepared him for this.
Riya Mukherjee, sitting right next to him, acting like his overly possessive, overdramatic, and completely shameless wife.
His brain was still trying to process the fact that she had just called him her pati (husband) in public. In front of a stranger. With full confidence.
He took a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Riya…”
“Haan, sir?” Riya turned to him with puppy eyes, blinking innocently as if she hadn’t just given him a minor heart attack.
Arjun exhaled sharply. “Yeh sab karne ki zaroorat kya thi?” (What was the need for all this?)
Riya bit her lip, pretending to think. “Umm… woh ladki aapko ghoor rahi thi.” (Umm… that girl was staring at you.)
Arjun raised an eyebrow. “Aur?” (And?)
Riya gasped dramatically, placing a hand over her heart. “Matlab aapko koi problem nahi thi?” (That means you had no problem with it?)
Arjun groaned internally. He could already feel a headache forming. “Riya…”
She pouted. Actually pouted. “Sir, agar yeh undercover operation sach hota toh kya main aise hi baithti, chup chap?” (Sir, if this was a real undercover operation, would I just sit here quietly like this?)
Arjun clenched his jaw. “Agar yeh sach hota, toh main khud resign de deta.” (If this was real, I would have resigned myself.)
Riya burst into laughter.
Arjun did not appreciate it.
Before he could respond, a sharp voice interrupted them.
“Mr. Arjun! Mrs. Riya!”
Both turned toward the source of the voice.
It was Rohit Singhania—their main suspect.
Arjun instantly straightened up, his entire demeanor shifting into professional ETF mode.
But before he could say anything, Riya clutched his arm again, tightening her grip like an actual, territorial wife.
Singhania smiled, raising his glass. “Aap dono ko dekh kar bahut accha laga. Aajkal aise romantic couples dekhne ko nahi milte.” (It’s nice to see you both. These days, you don’t see such romantic couples.)
Riya beamed. “Bas, pyaar ho toh aisa hi ho, na?” (Well, love should be like this, right?)
Arjun internally screamed.
Singhania nodded in agreement. “Bilkul. Waise, ek baat kahoon?” (Absolutely. By the way, can I say something?)
Arjun forced a small smile. “Haan, kaho.” (Yes, say it.)
Singhania smirked. “Aap dono ek dusre ke bina reh nahi sakte na?” (You both can’t stay without each other, right?)
Arjun almost choked.
Before he could react, Riya decided to commit a crime.
She turned to him, smiling sweetly. Then—before he could even process what was happening—she leaned forward, rested her head against his shoulder, and squeezed his hand.
Arjun’s entire body locked up.
The ETF never trained him for this.
Singhania laughed. “Aap dono ki chemistry kamaal ki hai! Koi bhi dekh kar keh sakta hai ki aap dono sach mein ek doosre ke liye bane hain.” (Your chemistry is amazing! Anyone can tell you’re truly made for each other.)
Riya smiled innocently. “Bas, meri aur Arjun ki love story hi itni special hai.” (Well, my and Arjun’s love story is just that special.)
Arjun’s brain short-circuited.
He was 99% sure that this was no longer about the mission.
Riya was fully enjoying his misery.
He gave her a sharp look, his grip on her hand tightening in warning. “Riya…”
Riya just squeezed his hand back, smiling wider.
Singhania, completely unaware of the emotional murder happening here, nodded. “Aap dono se milke bahut accha laga. Aap dono ek dusre ke saath khush raho.” (It was nice meeting you both. Stay happy together.)
Riya grinned. “Wahi toh plan hai!” (That’s the plan!)
Arjun wanted to scream.
Singhania finally excused himself, walking away.
The moment he was gone, Arjun yanked his hand away.
“Riya,” he said, his voice dangerously low. “Main tumhe maar dunga.” (I’m going to kill you.)
Riya just giggled.
“Sir, maza nahi aaya?” (Sir, didn’t you have fun?)
Arjun gave her the deadliest ETF glare in history.
Riya gasped dramatically and put a hand on her chest. “Aap mujhe maarna chahte hain?” (You want to kill me?)
Arjun crossed his arms. “Haan.” (Yes.)
Riya pouted. “Matlab main ab widow ban jaungi?” (That means I’ll become a widow now?)
Arjun groaned, rubbing his temples. “Mujhe ETF ka resignation letter likhna padega.” (I’ll have to write my resignation letter.)
Riya giggled again.
Just then, the earpiece crackled in their ears.
“Sir, mission successful! Rohit Singhania ke illegal deals ke sab proofs mil gaye hain. Ab aap dono wahan se nikal sakte hain.” (Sir, mission successful! We got all the proof of Rohit Singhania’s illegal deals. You both can leave now.)
It was Shree.
And judging by his barely controlled laughter, Arjun knew that the entire ETF team had been watching this mission like a comedy film.
He closed his eyes for a moment. “Theek hai. Hum aa rahe hain.” (Alright. We’re coming.)
Riya beamed. “Finally! Chalein, pati dev?” (Finally! Shall we go, husband dearest?)
Arjun clenched his jaw. “Riya, main kasam khaata hoon—” (Riya, I swear—)
Riya quickly grabbed his arm and pulled him toward the exit, giggling the entire way.
And as Arjun was dragged away against his will, he made a mental note:
Next time ETF needs an undercover couple… He’s calling Rathore.
***
Arjun Suryakant Rawte had been through many kinds of pain.
Physical pain? He had taken bullets. Fought criminals. Survived explosions.
Emotional pain? His past was enough proof of that.
Mental pain?
This. This was mental torture.
As he stepped into the ETF office, he could feel it—the silent, overwhelming wave of pure evil radiating from his so-called teammates.
They had been waiting for him.
A round of slow claps echoed through the room.
Shree, leaning against a desk, was the first to speak, and his smirk was wider than a criminal’s mugshot.
“Waah, sir. Kya performance thi!” (Wow, sir. What a performance!)
Arjun clenched his jaw. Here we go.
Chotu, sitting beside Shree, grinned. “Sir, mujhe toh pata hi nahi tha ki aap itne romantic ho.” (Sir, I didn’t even know you were this romantic.)
Arjun shot him a glare so sharp it could slice through a bulletproof vest.
Chotu immediately turned away, coughing to cover his laughter.
But the worst part?
Rathore.
Sameer Damsingh Rathore—his oldest friend, his so-called best friend—was just standing there, arms crossed, smirking like he had been personally waiting for this moment since the dawn of time.
Arjun took a deep breath. “Sabka ho gaya?” (Is everyone done?)
Shree grinned. “Nahi, sir. Abhi toh shuru kiya hai.” (No, sir. We just started.)
Rathore finally spoke, his voice oozing with amusement.
“Rawte, mujhe ek baat batao.” (Rawte, tell me one thing.)
Arjun sighed, already tired. “Kya?” (What?)
Rathore smirked. “Tum itne dinon se undercover operations kar rahe ho, lekin pehli baar tumhara character itna real laga.” (You’ve been doing undercover operations for years, but this is the first time your character felt so real.)
A round of snickers followed.
Arjun was so close to quitting.
But before he could respond, a very excited Riya Mukherjee suddenly skipped into the room.
And Arjun knew—just knew—this was going to get worse.
Riya walked straight to her desk, humming to herself, a bright smile on her face.
Arjun turned to her slowly, dangerously. “Riya.”
Riya blinked, feigning innocence. “Sir?”
Arjun crossed his arms. “Tumhe koi afsos nahi ho raha?” (You don’t feel any regret?)
Riya gasped, looking dramatically shocked. “Kis baat ka?” (For what?)
Arjun gave her a look so deadly even criminals would have confessed on the spot.
Riya, however, just grinned.
Shree nudged Chotu. “Yeh toh full possessive biwi mode mein chali gayi thi, bro.” (She went into full possessive wife mode, bro.)
Chotu snorted. “Haan, aur sir ki beizzati full HD quality mein hui.” (Yeah, and sir got insulted in full HD quality.)
Arjun mentally calculated how many years he’d get in jail for murder.
Rathore shook his head, laughing. “Honestly, Rawte, tumhe Oscar milna chahiye.” (Honestly, Rawte, you deserve an Oscar.)
Shree gasped dramatically. “Nahi sir, Best Joru Ka Gulaam award.” (No sir, Best Henpecked Husband award.)
Riya grinned even wider.
Arjun saw red.
He turned to Riya, voice lethal. “Riya Mukherjee, ek baar batao—” (Riya Mukherjee, tell me one thing—)
Riya quickly raised her hand, cutting him off. “Sir, sir, sir! Ek second, ek second!” (Sir, sir, sir! One second, one second!)
Arjun narrowed his eyes.
Riya beamed. “Sir, ek request hai.” (Sir, I have one request.)
Arjun inhaled sharply. “Kya?” (What?)
Riya clasped her hands together sweetly.
“Sir, mission toh successful ho gaya… toh ek baar pati dev keh do na?” (Sir, the mission was successful… so just say husband dearest once?)
The entire room erupted in laughter.
Chotu nearly fell off his chair.
Shree high-fived Rathore.
Arjun just closed his eyes, silently accepting his fate.
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