Code name: Ishq

1751 hours. Select City Walk mall perimeter, evacuation zone.

Dr. Yamini Singh stood frozen among the controlled chaos of the evacuation area, her legs refusing to carry her any further from the building that had been her world for the past twenty-four hours. Around her, the carefully orchestrated symphony of emergency response continued. Paramedics moved between stretchers, their voices creating a steady murmur of medical assessments. Police officers directed traffic flow with practiced efficiency. Media personnel maintained their designated distance while cameras captured every angle of the ongoing crisis.

But Yamini couldn't move. Couldn't process the transition from the intimate terror of the storage room to this vast, open space filled with strangers and flashing lights. Her hands trembled as she watched the reunion unfolding twenty meters away.

Priyanka sat on a medical stretcher, her newborn daughter cradled against her chest while her husband knelt beside them both, tears streaming down his face as he touched his child's tiny fingers for the first time. The baby, barely twelve hours old, slept peacefully despite the chaos surrounding her birth. She had no idea she'd entered the world during a terrorist attack, that her first breath had been drawn in a storage room while gunfire echoed through the corridors above.

"She's beautiful," Priyanka's husband was saying, his voice breaking with emotion. "She's absolutely beautiful. Are you both okay? Are you really okay?"

"We're fine," Priyanka assured him, though her voice was exhausted. "Dr. Singh took care of us. She took care of everyone."

Yamini felt a tightness in her chest as she watched the family she'd helped create. Twenty-four hours ago, she'd been shopping for winter jackets for NGO children. Now she'd delivered a baby, stabilized cardiac patients, treated head trauma, and spent an entire day keeping nineteen people alive in a windowless storage room while the world exploded around them.

The surreal nature of it all made her feel disconnected from her own body, as if she were watching someone else's life unfold. Dr. Yamini Singh, emergency physician, who'd volunteered for a weekend medical outreach and accidentally become a combat medic. Again.

"Ma'am, we need to complete your medical evaluation," said a paramedic, approaching with a clipboard and concerned expression. "Standard protocol for all civilians who've been in the building for extended periods."

Yamini nodded absently, allowing herself to be guided to a nearby ambulance where she submitted to the familiar routine of medical assessment. Blood pressure, pulse, pupil response, basic neurological checks. Her body was functioning normally, all systems operational, no immediate concerns. She answered questions about her time in the building, her medical care of other civilians, any injuries or symptoms she'd experienced.

But her mind was elsewhere, replaying a moment that couldn't have been real. Those storm-gray eyes meeting hers across the corridor. The impossible recognition, the way the world had stopped moving when she'd seen him in black tactical gear.

It hadn't been real. It couldn't have been real. Mayank was in Arunachal Pradesh, conducting mountain operations with his team. Mayank was Para SF, not NSG. Mayank was thousands of kilometers away, safely removed from whatever was happening in this Delhi mall.

Her stressed, exhausted mind had conjured him because he represented safety, because in moments of crisis, her subconscious reached for the one person who'd ever made her feel completely protected. That was the only logical explanation.

"Dr. Singh?" The paramedic was looking at her with concern. "You seemed to space out there for a moment. Are you experiencing any confusion, disorientation, difficulty concentrating?"