Sir and I

"Are you awake?" - I texted my friend at 6:00 AM .

"How can I be so late on such an important day !". I groaned, the panic hittng me all at once . I checked my watch kept on the table and it was already 6:05 AM. I literally had my alarm set for 5:30 AM - why could'nt my eyes just open on time?

I quickly got up and rushed to the washroom to get ready as i also had to revise my notes. Today was the NSC B-Certificate exam at St. Robert's school, and i could'nt afford to be a second late. My mind was already a blur of B.COM accounting principles and the drill commands for my DST (Drill Square Test) I'd need for the practicals later. I just hoped the PI Staff overseeing wasn't as strict about the timings as the rumours suggested.

I along with Akku barely made it to the gates of St. Robert's, my breath hitching as I see the sea of khaki uniforms. The air was heavy with the scent of boot polish and nervousness energy. I was adjusting my beret, trying to look composed despite the sprint fron the taxi stand to the steep hills where the St. Robert's was located, when i looked up towards the main ground of the school. There was already a queue for document verification , running , Akku and i stood in our seperate lines according to our regimental number. I stood in the queue, my fingers subconsciously tracing the edges of my revision notes. While the cadets around me were whispering about the freezing hill station weather or complaining about the steep climb to St. Robert’s, my mind was occupied with the duality of my life. On one hand, I was a 3rd-year Accounting and Finance student who lived for the logic of a balanced ledger; on the other, I was a cadet trying to survive the B-Certificate practicals. Love, or even a simple distraction, was nowhere on my syllabus for the year. I had plans—internships, a career, a future built on calculated decisions. I had always been the girl who looked at the blackboard, not the boy sitting next to it.

We were approaching the shaded corridor where the PI Staff were seated at the wooden table. "Next documents, Cadet," a voice commanded - crisp, steady, and carrying the unmistakable weight of the Indian Army.

But as the line moved forward and the fog began to thin around the verification desk, my internal logic started to fail. The fog , the cold, and the stress of B-Cert - it all vanished.

That was the moment I saw you.

You were sitting there, your uniform immaculate even in this weather, looking at my ID card with a focused intensity. I saw the way he sat. He didn't have the weary, bored posture of the other officers who had been doing this for decades. He looked... present. There was a sharp, archival quality to him, like a figure out of a history book but with a terrifyingly modern intensity. For the first time in my life, the B.Com principles in my head went quiet. My focus didn't just break; it shattered. It wasn't just that he was an officer. It was the way the cold wind seemed to respect him, barely moving the collar of his uniform while the rest of us shivered.

It was like a scene in a movie when the cold winds turned warm, the fog seemed like flower petals. Then it all vanished in a second when he said that I was missing my original identity card as the photocopy would not do. I felt like an idiot. I had to rush to my bag kept in a different room, the line kept moving forward.

I hurried back into the line, my chest heaving from the sprint. I knew too well the discipline and the age gap that usually separated us from the PI staff. They were mentors, figures of authority—nothing more.

​I told myself to look at my notes. Focus on the DST commands. But every time I tried to look down at the paper in my hands, my eyes were drawn back to the way his pen moved across the register.The cold sand crunched under my boots as I reached the desk where he sat. The "flower petals" of my imagination had been replaced by a sharp, grounding adrenaline. He did not look up immediately. He was busy with the register, his movements were precise and focused.

"Original ID?" he asked. That same low , steady voice.

"Sir", I said, placing the card on the table. My fingers were still trembling slightly.

"Sign here" he pointed. Now, I have couple of ways I hold my pen while i'm writing which depends on either my mood or comfort. I'm actually so glad that I used my 'very unconventional looking but is comfortable to me' way of holding my pen that day.

"Oh interesting!" he said faintly , almost to himself, as he started to mimic my way of holding the pen, as I was signing the document. My heart skipped a beat. I pulled my hand back as if the pen had suddenly turned white-hot. I didn't dare look up to see if there was a smirk or just cold indifference on his face. I just clutched my documents , and awkwardly hurried back to my line.

My mind was a chaotic mess. Oh,interesting? What was that supposed to mean? Was he mocking my handwriting? Or was he actually... noticing me? I shook my head , my beret slightly over my forehead. No, Priya. Don't go there, He's an officer, probably years older, and definitely has better things to do than think about a cadet who holds her pen like a toddler.

I found Akku waiting for me near the wooden doors of the hall. She looked at me, her eyes narrow with suspicion. "Why is your face so red ?" Is it cold or did the PI staff scold you for being late?"

"The wind," I lied immediately, my voice sounding an octave higher than usual. "I'm just so out of breath by the climb from the taxi stand to school". Akku has tiny bits of suspicion in my alibi but thankfully she moved to the next topic that we were talking about.

​I looked back over my shoulder one last time. The fog was swirling around the verification desk again, making the unnamed officer look like a silhouette from an old military film. The sharp lines of his shoulders and the way his beret sat perfectly at an angle - it was my ultimate kryptonite. I had always prided myself on being a topper who didn't get distracted by the college 'boys' in their oversized hoodies and messy hair. I liked order. I liked discipline. And a man who looked like he could command an entire battalion just by standing there? That was a threat to my GPA I hadn't prepared for.

"I turned away, following Akku towards the allotted hall number according to my roll number in a queue. The corridor of St. Robert’s was dimly lit as it was still foggy, smelling of old stone and floor wax. I moved quickly, my head down, desperately trying to tuck my documents back into the plastic sleeve of my folder. I was lecturing myself internally, a habit from years of being a focused student. Focus, Priya. You are here for a certificate, not for some silhouette in the fog. He’s an officer. You’re a cadet. Balance your brain like a ledger.

​I was so caught up in my "topper" mindset that I didn't notice the sharp turn ahead or the fact that the rhythmic sound of boots had stopped just around the corner.

​Thud.

​I didn't just walk into a person; I walked into a solid, unyielding wall of khaki and starch. The impact sent a jolt through my shoulders, and my folder slipped from my numb fingers. My revision notes and my ID card scattered across the dusty floor like a deck of cards.

​I gasped, my hands instinctively reaching out to steady myself, and they landed right against the rough, cold fabric of a broad chest. The scent hit me first—that distinct, crisp mix of mountain air and military-grade detergent.

​I looked up, my breath hitching painfully in my throat. It was him.

​He hadn't moved an inch, his frame as steady as a mountain, but his hands had come up to catch my elbows, holding me in place so I wouldn't tumble backward. For a split second, the silence of the corridor was deafening. Up close, his intensity was even more terrifying. He didn't let go immediately. His gaze dropped to my hands against his chest, then back to my face, his expression as unreadable and reserved as ever.

​"Heraera hidnus" he murmured, the nepali words sounding like a low, steady vibration that I could feel in my own bones. "You seem to be in quite a rush to get to that exam."

​I couldn't speak. My "topper" brain, usually so quick with a logical response, had officially flatlined. I was trapped between his grip and my own embarrassment, realizing that my secret weakness for the uniform was no longer just a thought—it was currently holding me by the elbows.