Code name: Ishq

The quarters were unusually quiet for a Saturday evening, save for the occasional burst of laughter echoing from Major Mayank Kashyap's room. Four empty Old Monk bottles sat on the small table like fallen soldiers, and the fifth was making steady progress toward joining them. The overhead fan creaked lazily, stirring the mountain air that carried the scent of pine and the distant sound of evening prayers from the village below.

Mayank sat cross-legged on his narrow military cot, his usually pristine uniform replaced by a faded army t-shirt and combat pants. His hair, normally styled with military precision, fell across his forehead in uncharacteristic disarray. Across from him, Captain Arjun Sharma lounged in the single chair, his long legs stretched out, while Captains Vikram Singh and Rohan Nair had claimed spots on the floor, backs against the wall.

"Yaar, I still can't believe it," Vikram said, taking a generous swig from his glass and gesturing wildly. "Our stone-hearted major, the same bastard who once made a terrorist cry just by staring at him, was sitting there at 0200 hours bottle-feeding a fucking kitten."

"Arrey, it wasn't bottle-feeding, chutiye," Mayank protested, though his ears were suspiciously red. "I was just making sure the damn thing didn't die after that forest adventure."

"Oh, making sure it didn't die," Rohan repeated with mock seriousness, adjusting his glasses. "That's why you had it curled up on your chest like a newborn baby. Very professional, sir."

Arjun nearly choked on his drink. "Bhenchod, you should have seen his face when I walked in for the morning briefing prep. There he was, our fearless leader, with this tiny black furball using his shoulder as a pillow, and he's just sitting there frozen like someone had pointed a gun at him."

"I was being careful not to wake it up," Mayank defended, though he was fighting a smile. "The thing had been through trauma."

"Trauma," Vikram wheezed. "The only trauma that cat had was realizing it had fallen for the wrong Singh. Poor little Princess Buttercup thought she was getting the sweet, chaotic doctor and instead got stuck with our emotionally constipated major."

"Shut up, madarchod."

"But seriously," Rohan said, pushing his glasses up his nose with the precision of someone who'd had just enough to drink to be philosophical, "that kitten has better judgment than most people. Took one look at you and thought, 'This one will protect me.' Animals can sense these things, you know."

"Animals can sense a lot of things," Vikram said with a meaningful look. "Like when someone's trying really hard to pretend they don't give a shit about something they actually care about a lot."

Mayank's glass paused halfway to his lips. "Don't."

"Don't what?" Vikram asked innocently. "I was talking about the cat, bhai. Why, were you thinking about something else?"

"Or someone else?" Arjun added helpfully.

Mayank set his glass down with deliberate care and fixed them with the same stare that had once made a hardened militant wet himself. "I said don't."

The warning in his voice was clear enough that even three-drinks-in Vikram knew to back off. For now.

"Alright, alright," Arjun said, raising his hands in surrender. "Let's talk about something else. Like how Rohan here nearly got himself killed trying to show off in front of that communications officer in Manipur."

"That was tactical maneuvering," Rohan protested, suddenly grateful for the topic change. "I was providing cover."

"You were providing entertainment," Vikram laughed. "Jumping over that jeep like some Bollywood hero. What were you thinking, saale?"