Sandhir OneShots - The Tension and the Spark (A Collection) - Updated

a/n: Let's be honest, the chemistry between Sanyukta and Randhir is passionate and electric. There is always this constant static, this current between them. This is my attempt to put that very thing, into words. I hope you enjoy it.

summary: Somewhere between petty fights of oneupmanship and the ongoing battle to keep sane, two people blur the lines between attraction and animosity. This is the story of rank no. 1 Randhir Singh Shikhawat and rank 300 Sanyukta Agarwal and the small insignificant moments that changed their lives.

i

measure of a man

The first time Sanyukta Agarwal realises Randhir Singh Shikhawat is a man comes months after she actually meets him.

Subconsciously, she knows Randhir is a guy - a boy to be precise. she isn't blind, nor stupid after all. She knows this the same way she knows red is danger, her brother is stupid and actions speak louder than words. Plus that has been the problem all along when it comes to him hasn't it? The gender dynamics, the preconceived notions, the stereotypical roles. Besides, it would be impossible to miss out on it, especially considering how gladly he wears his identity, how at home he is in his own body.

Ever since she has met him, he has always tried to draw distinctions, to remind her of what she is not by asserting what he is. Yet her first moment of realisation catches her off-guard and it has nothing to do with the skin he's born in. After all, she has already seen enough of it on numerous occasions. Though she would never admit it, she's been vaguely aware of the stretch of his shirt across his shoulder for some time now, ever since the webcam episode. And while she had made it a point to not stare at his shirtless exercising form (she remember it having strangely turned into an act of acute self restrain), she had caught enough glimpses for it to be seared into her mind. Just as most things he did or said tend to. Logically, had the realisation struck then, it would have made absolute sense. But it doesn't.

It doesn't even strike her when she's trapped in the locked library with him. He's breathing fire, so angry he's struggling to speak. His voice is rough, edgy and jagged quite akin to his soul and she's struggling to keep them both calm. While she's usually quick to jump, fast to react, today she struggles to keep the constant buzz from blazing. Today is different. He's on fire and losing control but if she doesn't act fast, she'd be the one turning to ash. He's threatening to ruin her honour'. A baggage she was born with. A responsibility she didn't willingly shoulder - that she had been burdened with. And he's struggling with more than just his voice. He's struggling with himself, his being, his identity. She doesn't quite understand why but he is hellbent on proving to her that he's a man independent of a woman. That he doesn't need one (not the one who brought him into this world and definitely not the one that's turned his world upside down), that he can ruin one (her, only her, always her) in the blink of an eye, in the darkness of the night and the solitude of a room. That he is dangerous.

But what she does know is that even as he threatens her and even as she stands before him cajoling and cursing and threatening back - he still lets her overpower him physically. She is still the one to pull him closer and rip his shirt apart and he is still the one to turn away as angry tears storm down her face. And as he carries her limp body in his arms and rushes her to the clinic, she knows without a doubt (with pride) that no matter how hard he tried, he's failed to make her see him as a man. A man she should fear.

When it does come, the realisation is like a flash of light that almost blinds her with it's clarity, it's sharpness.

It's dark and late. They are under the clear blue sky out in the open; surrounded by buses in a deserted depot in the dead of the night. She is miles away from home, equally further away from where they ought to be, where she needs to take him, where he refuses to return. She has tried all the tricks, all her charms and he's outsmarted, blindsided them all. Rare as it seems, she finds herself very close to giving up. And that is exactly when she looks up to notice they aren't alone anymore.

Her last plan has come through and she feels a thrill course down her body. Which quickly turns into a shiver of dread as she watches a foreign hand reaching for her. And it is only then that she realises she's bet everything she has on him. That she has entrusted her life to him. That if he didn't come through, she would cease to exist. In that moment, for the first time in her life fear wins out and she finds herself consciously seeking refuge behind a man.

It is then, as she watches him grab that hand and twist it around, that she (finally) sees Randhir Singh Shekhawat as a man. She almost staggers with relief at the thought and is surprised to find she is grateful he is one, grateful he is Randhir. Because it is also then that, for the first time ever, she comprehends the vulnerability of being a woman.