Dr. Kavya Malhotra, First‑Person POV

The funeral wreath lay heavy on my lap, petals already wilting in the spring sun. We stood at the edge of the gravesite—Colonel Rajput rigid as stone, Nandini stooped in anger, and I, clutching the folded flag, barely felt the weight of my own body. Captain Khanna hovered beside me, hands clasped behind his back, eyes fixed on the casket where Shashwat's name was being inscribed in bronze.

It should have been only a ceremony of duty, a final salute by a grateful nation. Instead, it became the day my world shattered twice—once for the man I loved, and once for the friend who loved me in return.

I waited for the volley of gunfire, that measured sequence of three shots to end. Each report echoed in my chest like a death knell, hammering the realization that he was truly gone. The bugler's lament followed, a single, drowning note that chased away the last of the silence. Then the bugle fell, the officers saluted, and Colonel Rajput dropped a single rose onto the coffin.

A cousin in civilian clothes handed me the flag. "For Major Shashwat Rajput's next of kin," she said softly. My hands closed around it—stitched cloth and sorrow.

I turned, the folded triangles pressing into my ribs, and saw Khanna standing stiffly a few feet away. The world felt strange, like I'd stepped into someone else's dream. I moved toward him, uncertain what to say beyond the hollow word I'd repeated since dawn: goodbye.

"Kavya," he said, voice low as he fell into step beside me. "You okay?"

I managed a nod. The flag felt absurdly light—the weight of it no match for the emptiness in my chest.

He guided me to a lone bench under a flowering cherry tree. Pink petals drifted down like confetti for mourners. I sat, folding the flag across my lap, and let the tears come. Khanna lowered beside me, respect and fear mingling in his posture. For a long moment, we sat in silence, the only sound the wind in the blossoms and the distant murmur of soldiers packing away ceremonial rifles.

Finally, he spoke. "It's over." His words were a statement and a question all at once.

I lifted my face to him, eyes red‑rimmed. "He's really gone."

He nodded, throat tight. "I know."

My hands clenched the flag. "You promised you'd bring him back."

His eyes went dark with guilt. "I thought if I could find him... if I could save him again..." He swallowed. "I'm sorry."

I shook my head. "Don't—" My voice caught. "You did everything you could."

He reached to touch my hand, hesitated, then laid his palm against mine. The warmth of his skin contrasted with the chill in my bones. "I can't fix this for him," he whispered. "But I can try to fix it for you."

I looked at him, startled. His face was open in a way I'd never seen—raw, torn, desperate. "DK..."

He pressed his lips together. "I know this isn't the time, or the place, but..." He drew a small velvet box from his pocket. My breath caught as he opened it to reveal a simple silver ring—thin band set with a single pale sapphire. "Kavya Malhotra," he said, voice trembling, "will you marry me?"

The petals drifted around us, and for a moment the world stopped turning. I stared at the ring as though it were a lifeline thrown into the void. The sorrow in Khanna's eyes was unmistakable—someone reaching for hope in the ashes of heartbreak.

I closed my fingers over his. "DK..."

He took a steadying breath. "I know it's too soon—"

"Time doesn't heal or hurt," I whispered. "It just passes."

He nodded, opening his mouth to speak again, but I held his gaze and raised a trembling hand. "Yes."

Relief crashed through him in a shudder that I felt in my own chest. He swept me into his arms, and the ring slipped onto my finger with a soft click. Under the cherry blossoms, we clung to each other—two wounded souls grasping for a fragment of light.

Hours Later, in the Officer's Mess

The room smelled of jasmine tea and stale biscuits. Officers gathered in hushed clusters, offering condolences and awkward smiles. Most had no idea what they'd witnessed under the tree: a proposal born of grief and the desperate promise of a future neither of us dared imagine.

Khanna and I sat in a quiet corner, sharing a pot of hot tea. The ring on my finger felt both foreign and inevitable—like a statement carved into my flesh.

"Are you certain?" he asked, voice raw. "I don't want this to be another mistake."

I lifted my hand to the light, watching the sapphire catch the glow. "I've never been more certain."

He exhaled, sinking back into the sofa as though a weight had lifted from his shoulders. I sipped my tea, heart still pounding.

A fellow captain passed by—Lieutenant Singh, his eyes warm. "Congratulations," he said, clapping Khanna on the back. "You two deserve happiness."

Khanna grinned, a genuine, faltering smile. "Thanks, Singh." Singh glanced at me, then nodded. "Especially after today."

He moved on, leaving us in a bubble of quiet triumph and fear. I turned to Khanna, brushing a loose strand of hair behind my ear. "What do we do now?"

He reached for my hand. "First... we live."

I smiled, tears pricking again. "And then?"

"Then we love," he said simply.

Late Night, My Quarters

I lay in bed, ring glowing faintly in the lamplight. Khanna had gone back to his own quarters, leaving me to the whirl of thoughts I couldn't still. I thought of Shashwat—his storm‑gray eyes, his unsent poetry, the way he taught me to breathe in grief. I thought of the life we almost had, the future he gave up believing he didn't deserve.

Now, Khanna offered me a different path: one shaped not by death or duty, but by choice.

I slipped the ring off and held it in my palm, tracing the sapphire's facets. I remembered his confession of secrets, his ritual of release, the way he protected me in the silence after the ceasefire attack. I remembered his promise: to never lie again, to stand beside me in truth.

I slid the ring back onto my finger, feeling its gentle pressure. It was a promise to him—and to myself—that love could grow even where hope had burned away.

Sleep came slow, but when it did, it carried me into dreams where two hands clasped in petals, and the world, finally, seemed brave enough to bloom again.