The morning sun rose slowly over the clay-tiled rooftops of Bhavani Gaon. This small village lay at the foothills, with paddy fields and tall eucalyptus trees. The morning mist hung in the air, wrapped around the dirt lanes. With just two hundred people, Bhavani Gaon was a remote village, isolated from modern chaos. Life here was simple, and time moved slowly.

At the edge of the village stood the Thakur household. The compound was huge, surrounded by mango orchards that stretched far. The two-story house was built of pale sandstone and polished teak. Its floor was coated with red tiles, and a carved wooden veranda floated over the backyard, shaded by a tall neem tree. Inside, the walls displayed photographs of men in uniform. The family has been a part of a long line of soldiers. They had served in many battles. From the Burma Campaign to Kargil, the Thakur men never denied their duty.

Bhairav Singh Thakur had retired just two years ago. He led troops in Siachen and Arunachal. His father had fought bravely in 1971. His only son, Karan Singh Thakur, was twenty-three and now served in Kashmir. It was in their blood.

The calm was broken by the clinking of a spoon against stainless steel. Meera, just twenty, stirred boiling tea. This was her morning routine, one she had done daily since her wedding a year ago. Her green glass bangles jingled as she poured tea into two copper glasses, setting them on a brass tray. She stepped into the backyard of the house. There stood the man of the house, Colonel (Retd.) Bhairav Singh Thakur. At forty-five, he looked more like a young serving officer than a retiree. His posture was rigid. His arms stretched in as he went through the morning exercise routine.

“Chai, Bauji,” Meera called softly.

Bhairav turned, wiping sweat from his brow with a towel around his neck. The sweat was from his morning drills. Even in retirement, he treated the backyard like a parade ground. “News from Karan?” he asked, taking a seat on the nearby wooden stool.

“Yes, Bauji. We spoke last week. He says the post is quiet. He’s doing well.”

The Colonel reached for his glass of tea and nodded at Meera. He blew on the steam that curled softly on the hot liquid. “You’re adjusting well,” he said, catching her off guard.

She looked up, unsure if it was a compliment or just an observation. “Yes, Bauji. I try,” she replied.

“Don’t just try. Learn. In this house, the women hold the peace while the men fight the war.”

She nodded slightly but knew the interactions with her father-in-law were not about words. They were in the silences. The looks. The pauses. This was their life. As he continued his daily routine of exercise and physical activity. She took a step back and went back inside the house for her daily chores.

That night, Meera watched the ceiling fan, with her back to her bed, lost in thought. She thought about her family and friends. It echoed in her ears. Before Meera ever stepped into the Thakur household, she lived in a small village just ten kilometers away, Devipur. It was more remote than her in-laws’ house. No paved roads. Houses made of brick walls, coated with lime and cow dung.

Meera grew up in her uncle’s house with her aunt and cousins. After her mother died in childbirth, her father died when she was nine. An accident at a construction site. He had gone to the city to earn money for a proper roof. He never came back. Her uncle and aunt had two daughters of their own to raise. Savitri and Lata. By seventeen, Meera had finished school. She was quiet and average in her studies.

When Meera was eighteen, proposals started to arrive. Not many. Meera and her uncle’s family were poor. The little land her uncle owned was kept aside for his own daughters. They offered no dowry to the groom’s family. Savitri and Lata were still too young for marriage. Then came the message from the Thakur family. It arrived through a temple priest.

“A military family,” her aunt whispered, as if sharing a legend. “They say the boy is an officer. Posted in Kashmir. Only son.”

Meera accepted the proposal, as Thakur demanded no dowry. When the wedding took place, Meera was excited. Her marriage to Karan started well. The first six months were the best moments of her life. But soon, he too had to leave. Now, she was dealing with loneliness. It’s been a year since her wedding; night after night, she watched the same ceiling fan spin above her.

One evening, after dinner, Meera sat by the window in her room. Then, the phone rang.

“Meera,” her husband, Lieutenant Karan Singh Thakur, said calmly. “How are you?”

Her heart skipped a beat. “I’m okay. Are you good? Are you eating well?”

“Yeah, I’m good. How is Dad doing?” he asked.

“He is...” She paused for a moment. “Good.”

“Is he still staying to himself, always quiet and stern?” Karan asked, as if he already knew the answer.

“Yes,” she replied.

“Try to get him to talk, Meera. He needs it.” Karan said, concern clear in his voice. “Ask him about his old stories, the battles he’s fought, or even the books he reads. Just get him to engage. He is pretty friendly if you engage more.”

Meera nodded, though Karan couldn’t see her. “I will, Karan. I’ll try my best.”

“And, Meera,” Karan said, his tone shifting, “I’ve called for another reason.”

Meera’s heart raced. “What is it?”

Karan said with a sense of urgency. “I’ve been posted to the Kupwara sector. High alert. Tensions are rising near the border.”

“Will you be alright?” she asked quickly.

“I’ll be fine,” he said. “We’ve trained for this. Don’t worry.”

She nodded, even though he couldn’t see her. “When will you be home next?”

He hesitated. “It’s uncertain for now. But I’ll call as soon as I can.” Then he added, “Remember, talk to Dad; it will ease some tension.”

She smiled, despite her worry. Clutching the phone, she said, “Okay.”

He hung up. Meera set the phone down. His words stuck in her chest. She took a deep breath as she headed to update her father-in-law. In the living room, Bhairav sat with a book. His eyes were glued to the page. She approached him and stood in front of his chair.

“Bauji,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “Karan called.”

Bhairav’s gaze shifted, sharp and alert. He folded the book and placed it on his lap. “And?”

Meera inhaled deeply. “He’s been posted to Kupwara. High alert.”

Bhairav’s expression didn’t change. But he noticed the worry in her eyes, a hint of fear she tried to mask. “You don’t need to worry about Karan,” he replied firmly. “He’s a Thakur. We are born for this.” He paused for a moment. “I will tell the priest about an offering to gods this week. For his protection.”

Meera nodded, trying to let his words soothe her fear. But the tension wrapped tighter around her. She knew her husband’s family were strong men of action. Yet, concern for her husband hung heavy in the air. She retreated to her room.

Outside, the night grew darker. Lying in bed, her mind filled with images of the dangers Karan was facing. The silence was only broken by the distant howl of a jackal. Meera couldn’t sleep. The full-moon light filtered through the curtains, casting a bright glow in her room. She felt a chill, despite the warmth of her blanket. Suddenly, she heard footsteps coming through the window. Peering out, she saw Bhairav beneath the neem tree. He walked the backyard, boots crunching on gravel. Karan had told her about Bhairav’s struggles with PTSD. His sleepless nights were filled with restless pacing. She had often heard her father-in-law’s sudden noises after he woke up from a dream. Her heart ached for him. But she knew better than to disturb his solitude.

A week later, the heat of August pressed down hard. Meera moved through the kitchen, preparing the wheat dough into perfect circles. The bread puffed on the hot skillet. Meera flipped it and placed it on a brass plate. She added pickle, curry, and curd next to it. From the kitchen window, she spotted her father-in-law in the backyard. He was reading some book.

“Bauji, lunch is ready,” she called out.

“Yeah, get it here,” he replied.

She took the cooked meal to the backyard, where Bhairav sat in his wooden chair under the shade of a large tree. They sat under the shade, just like every afternoon. Meera served him quietly, taking her place on the floor beside him. She always ate later, after he finished. He took a bite, then another. Then he paused.

“There’s too much salt,” he said.

Meera looked up, taken aback. She tasted it from her own plate. “No, Bauji. I measured—”

He interrupted her. Not with anger, but with a colder tone. “In the army, excuses are worse than mistakes.”

She lowered her gaze. “Ji.”

Then, he spoke softly. “You don’t have to follow me, Meera. I’m not your commanding officer.”

She looked at him, unsure if he was being kind or condescending. “You are the head of this house, Bauji. If I don’t try to figure out what you need, how can I correct my mistakes?”

Her words seemed to strike a chord. He put down his bread. He leaned back, contemplating. “Your world was different. I suppose it’s quieter around here with me.”

“It’s not the quiet that frightens me, Bauji. It’s when I can’t read what your silence sometimes means.” She said softly.

He blinked, surprised. “You’re observant. That’s important,” he said, almost amused. “Karan married well.”

Meera straightened. It was the first time he had offered any praise. “I’ll make sure the curry is better next time,” she said, standing to clear the plates.

He watched her for a moment. “Have you spoken to him lately?”

“Yes, last night. I told him we did the prayer at the temple. I didn’t mention the leopard sightings.”

He nodded. “Good.”

She hesitated for a moment before uttering softly. “I didn’t tell him you wake up at a late hour at night, walking the backyard.”

He looked at her, startled. Not just by the fact, but that she had noticed. Their eyes met. For the first time, they truly saw each other. He stood up slowly. “Next time you speak to him ... tell him the curry was perfect.”

Then he walked away. Meera stood in the stillness, her heart strangely full.

That night, Meera was in her room. Her father-in-law slept in his room. Outside, dogs barked in the distance. She sat up. Then, she picked up her phone and called her aunt. It had been a month since they last spoke. Meera missed her aunt’s voice. The phone rang.

“Aunt, it’s me,” she whispered into the phone.

Her aunt’s voice was a comfort. “Meera, how are you?”

“I’m okay, Ma. How are Savitri and Lata?” she asked.

“Your cousins are fine. They miss you. We all do,” her aunt answered.

“Aunt, I miss you too. But I’m worried about Karan. He’s in a dangerous place now,” Meera said, her voice shaky.

“He’s a strong boy, like his father. They’re Thakurs; they are strong. He’ll be fine, Meera. Keep your spirits up.” Meera’s aunt reassured her niece.

“Aunt, the curry had too much salt today,” Meera said, trying to lighten the mood.

Her aunt chuckled. “Did your father-in-law say anything?”

Meera smiled. “No, Ma. He didn’t say anything.”

“It’s alright, beti. “You’re learning,” the aunt said warmly. “Don’t let his mood get to you. He’s a man of few words, but his heart is in the right place. Keep your head down. Karan will be home soon.”

Meera nodded, though her aunt couldn’t see her. “I will.”

“Take care, beti,” Meera’s aunt said before hanging up.

Meera placed the phone on the side table. She lay down, trying to sleep, but it eluded her. Her mind drifted to the tension with Bhairav. The house felt too big, too empty without Karan’s comforting presence. She longed to seek refuge in someone. But all she had was her father-in-law, as stoic as Bhairav.

The snow in Kupwara was harsh. It blew sideways, driven by the Himalayan wind. It cut through the air, biting into their skin. There was no beauty in it—only a chilling warning. Lieutenant Karan Singh Thakur was on watch and gripped his INSAS rifle tightly. He was just three kilometers from the Line of Control. His gloves felt thick, but they were soaked. His unit of six, split into pairs, had been hiding for seven hours, lying in snow pits hidden under white netting. Their scopes fixed on the eastern ridge.

He had just reported, “Sector clear. Holding position. No movement.” It was routine. But at the border, routines meant little.

At 0342 hours, silence shattered. A single shot rang out. Not from their side. It struck an outer perimeter guard, clean through the shoulder, next to the soldier next to Karan. He dropped without a sound.

Seconds later, another shot was fired. This was it. Attack from the enemy, a team of four men. The radio buzzed to life with urgent commands. As orders passed, Karan didn’t hesitate. He moved—rifle raised, scanning the treeline for the source of fire.

The others flanked. Two soldiers took the left slope. Karan went right, toward the ridge curve. Suddenly, he saw movement. A flicker behind a boulder. A muzzle flash. He didn’t duck in time. The bullet struck high, under his collarbone, deep and jagged. He dropped to one knee but stayed upright. Gritting his teeth, he raised his rifle and returned fire—clean and sharp. He hit one target. Maybe two. But that didn’t matter.

The third man began shooting at Karan, who took cover behind a rock. It was too fast. Too close. A shot struck Karan—right through the chest. Karan’s body fell sideways into the snow. Eyes stared blankly at the sky. By the time reinforcements arrived, the remaining attackers had been eliminated. Four enemy soldiers were down. Two Indian soldiers were martyred. One of them was Lieutenant Karan Singh Thakur.

The sun rose over Bhavani Gaon, just like any other day. Warm light touched the neem tree. The crows cawed their morning calls. Meera swept the floor. She paused when she saw Bhairav Singh in the backyard. He wore sweatpants and an old sweatshirt. He looked drained from the exercise.

She approached him. “Should I prepare tea?”

He nodded, wiping the sweat from his brow. She went inside to boil tea.

Suddenly, his phone rang on the stool. Bhairav picked up. “Hello,” he said calmly.

“Colonel Thakur, sir,” a senior officer said through the phone. His voice was low. “We bring word ... from the Kupwara sector.”

Bhairav didn’t blink. The next words were a punch to the gut.

“Lieutenant Karan Singh Thakur was leading a forward patrol unit. They came under heavy fire during a pre-dawn infiltration attempt. He fought bravely. He ... was killed in action. Sir.”