Raanjhana

RAANJHANA

The early morning sky of Banarash wore a gentle saffron hue, as if the city itself had just stepped out of prayer.

In a quiet apartment tucked into a tree-lined lane near the Ghar , Vaidhe Avasthi sat cross-legged in front of her small mandir. The brass diya flickered softly as she chanted the Shiv strotra under her breath, stringing marigold petals onto cotton thread.

Her world was slow, deliberate. The scent of chandan and incense filled the room. A copper bell chimed once as she folded her hands.

"Sabka kalyan rakhna, Shiv ji, aur hampr thoda extra!" she whispered, "aur agar ho sake... ek acchi si kahaani bhi bhej dena aaj."

Then kiss her small rudraksha pendant with red thread around her neck , chanting "OM NAMAH SHIVYA".

She rose, wrapping her maroon dupatta over her shoulder, and walked toward her writing desk. The view from her balcony showed nothing extraordinary-an old peepal tree, a paan shop, college boys arguing over cricket-but her eyes always looked deeper.

She wrote to people. She understood silences. And though her words made strangers weep, Vaidhe herself carried the serenity of still water.

Her phone buzzed. It was her younger sister, Esha.

"Didi! Kal toh aag laga di tune! Bookstore mein itni bheed thi ki mera dupatta kisi ne chura liya. Tera naam ab celebrity list mein aa gaya hai!"

Vaidhe laughed. "Aree chup, drama queen. Tu dupatta pe gussa hai ya hamari safalta pe khush?"

"Dono!" Esha giggled. "Aur bhaiya ne kaha, tujhe ek solid celebration chahiye. Temple visit, prasad, aur ek aarti tere naam."

She smiled, her heart warm. Her siblings were her world-Arnav, not so strict but more like a mischievous friend but become fire when it comes to his sisters , and Esha, the firecracker with a heart of ghee laddoo.

Meanwhile, across the country, in the blinding white expanse of Leh, Captain Manvik Raghuvanshi stood on the snowy ridge of a frozen valley.

The air was thin. His breath was visible. But his gaze didn't waver.

He had led the night assault-12 hours of silence, sending seven territories to their god , frostbite, and danger. But the mission was clean. No soldier lost. Enemies neutralized. The flag untouched.

A junior officer approached him, panting, "Mission complete, sir. You're... unbelievable."

Manvik didn't reply. He simply turned his face to the sun, letting the light strike the tiny rudraksh thread he wore on his wrist.

He had trained harder than most-first in NDA, then the elite Ghatak forces. Not once had he let emotion cloud judgment. His name commanded fear, but his men followed him like shadow to flame.

And yet... there was a quietness in him.

Something untouched. Something...

waiting...

Two weeks later, back in Delhi on a brief break, Manvik entered a small independent bookstore in Dehradun while visiting an old academy friend. Rain drizzled outside. His boots echoed across the wooden floor as he brushed past shelves.

He wasn't here to read.

And yet, his eyes paused on a display marked "India's Most Soulful Love Story - Khamoshi Mein Tum by Vaidhe Avasthi."

The name.

He had heard it from a young jawan weeks ago. The boy had read the book during night duty, saying, "Sir, yeh pyaar ke baare mein nahi hai... yeh us aadmi ke baare mein hai jiska dil kabhi bolta nahi, par har cheez mehsoos karta hai."

Manvik picked it up. Just to read the first page.

> "Usne kabhi khud se pyaar nahi kiya, lekin duniya ke liye jaan de di.

Shayad, aise logon ko ishq milta hi nahi-milta hai toh... kisi Vaidhe se."

He shut the book. But his grip tightened.

---

Later that afternoon, as fate would write it, Vaidhe walked into the same bookstore for a surprise meet-and-greet. Her long braid was damp with rain. She wore a soft blue kurta, with tulsi beads around her wrist and a gentle smile playing on her lips.

"Namaste sabko," she greeted the small crowd warmly. "Mujhe pata hai ki barsaat ne surprise diya... par waise bhi, kahaniyaan baarish mein hi toh paida hoti hain, hai na?"

Laughter. Some claps.

And Manvik... froze.

He had seen courage on borders, heard screams in tunnels, even stood eye-to-eye with death.

But nothing had ever made his heart stop quite like the sound of her voice.

She noticed him-not for his uniform or aura-but because his silence was different.

Not awkward. Not arrogant.

Just... complete.

She walked toward him after the crowd thinned, curious.

"Aapne mera kitab uthaya, par kharida nahi," she said lightly, eyes dancing. "Kya dil nahi laga usmein?"

He looked at her. Deeply. His voice was calm but carried weight.

"Woh likha tha... 'jo kabhi bolta nahi, par sab mehsoos karta hai'... That line stayed."

She tilted her head, surprised. "Aapne yaad rakha?"

"Main wohi hoon." he said, simply.

Their eyes held. A small spark ..

And just for a moment, the sound of rain, the buzz of phones, the whisper of turning pages-all disappeared.

She felt it.

Like her soul had brushed something it already knew.

He felt it.

Like after years of running toward war, he had finally found something worth returning to.

---

Later, in her journal, Vaidhe would write:

"Today I met a man who spoke less than my silence.

His hands held history, and his eyes... bhagwaan ki kasam, they held storms."

"His name is Manvik Raghuwanshi. It was in his uniform, knitted with yellow thread on black batch.

And I don't know if he'll ever come back to this bookstore...

But something tells me-he doesn't leave things incomplete."

...

Candles flickered across the verandah of the Avasthi home, throwing soft golden halos on faces and shadows on walls. The evening had turned humid, the rain having cooled only the sky, not hearts.

Vaidhe walked out, two glasses of nimbu paani in hand. She spotted him - Manvik, standing quietly by the edge of the terrace, looking out at the soaked gully beyond.

"Captain Sahab, aapka paani... permission dijiye serve karne ki, ya court martial ho jaaye?" she teased, eyebrows raised.

He turned slowly, eyes narrowing just a bit, the corner of his lip twitching upward.

"Tumhari zubaan ka court martial hona chahiye, Mis-"

He paused, corrected himself.

"Noorie."

The word hung in the air like a whisper carried by wind.

She blinked. The glass in her hand wobbled slightly.

"Noorie?" she repeated, voice softer now, the sarcasm melting.

He nodded once, gaze steady.

"Tum ho hi waisi... roshni jaisi. Sirf jagmagaane ke liye nahi, andar tak dekh jaane wali."

For a second, Vaidhe didn't know whether to blush or run.

So she did the only thing she could do -

she turned around, cheeks burning, and mumbled with a tiny smile:

"Sainik ji, aapko line maarni bhi military style mein hi aati hai, waha NDA training mai yhe sekhate the "

Behind her, he chuckled - low and warm.

And just like that... the soldier and his Noorie took one step closer.

.

.

.

I was peaceful scrolling my insta and after one reel I was continuously getting reels related to the army and SSB NDA . I like them...no I love them so much , they inspire me. Pta nhi kyu Dil Dhadakne lagta hai 😍 Back then ye bimari Shershah dekhne ke baad aur badh gya the ...Than thought why don't I try to write a story . A good love tale .

Mujhe Padhne ka bhot shoke hai ,(not academic thought 🥲)

And recently I was craving to write something.. write something for own . Even you don't like them I will re read myself 🤧👍 Mujhe motivation ke v jaroorat hoge lekin ...

I'm aspirant so time ke Kami v hogi 😭😭💃

Anyway I'm going to give my best ... More characters will be introduced in the future like mamma papa , toxic bua bui,chachi, tai and all ..

If this little baby of mine reached to you or you reached to it , "DO Comment"

if you like it , and want next chapter...

Nhi v kroge to bhi mai post kr he dunge as I said mai khud apni story padhna chahti hu on Wattpad 😏 💅

Take care , Sayonara 💃