The doorbell echoed through the house just as Om was about to switch off the news. He wasn't expecting anyone. Curious and cautious, he rose from the sofa and made his way to the front door.
As he opened it, a gust of warm air carried with it the faint scent of dust . Standing in front of him was a girl wearing a beige cap, a crisp white shirt partially hidden beneath a traveler's jacket, and faded blue jeans tucked into rugged off-road boots. Her skin was deeply tanned, a clear sign she had spent considerable time in the sun. A heavy travel bag hung over one shoulder, and exhaustion clung to her posture like a second layer of clothing.
But even in that rugged appearance, she was stunning.
Without a word, she stepped forward and threw her arms around Om, hugging him tightly. The familiar scent of wilderness, sweat, and warmth enveloped him as she whispered into his shoulder, her voice cracking with emotion.
"I'm so sorry, Om… about uncle."
Om felt the strength in her embrace. If she had hugged any tighter, his ribs might have cracked. But he didn't mind. He knew this wasn't just anyone.
This was Rudra—his best friend since the age of five.
Their bond went far beyond childhood companionship. Rudra's family had moved into the apartment directly below his ten years ago. Their first meeting had been unexpected—Om had found her crying at the bottom of a staircase, scraped and bruised. He had picked her up, carried her home, and treated her injuries. From that moment on, their friendship became something unshakable.
They were fiercely competitive by nature. Despite attending different schools, they always tried to outperform each other in academics, athletics, and even martial arts. Rudra, especially during her early teens, had sported a short, tomboyish haircut and wasn't afraid to throw punches—literally. Om had often found himself pulling her out of scuffles and mediating conflicts.
Over the years, Rudra had grown out her hair and gradually embraced her femininity. But the fire inside her remained the same.
Her father was an officer in the Cop Division and also an Earth Elemental user with over 50% affinity—an impressive feat. Her mother, a teacher, was a Water Elemental with a 30% affinity, choosing a quieter path over military service. Together, they raised Rudra with the hope that she and her younger brother would serve Dharma as warriors.
In many ways, her upbringing was just as intense as Om's. Martial arts, shooting lessons, and constant discipline were a daily routine in her household. Yet, with Om, she always let her guard down. They shared birthdays close together and would be taking the Elemental Affinity Test side by side.
Om gently patted her back. "It's okay," he murmured, allowing her the moment. He was surprised—shocked even—to see her tears. Since that day they met, he couldn't recall a single time she had cried.
She finally stepped back, eyes red but fierce, and waited at the threshold. Normally, Rudra would barge right in without waiting, but today was different.
Om offered a faint smile. "Come in."
Rudra slipped off her shoes and stepped inside. Her gaze swept across the living room, the kitchen, the hallway. Without a word, she darted off in search of Sharanya and Shreya, calling out their names as she combed the house.
Om sat down, watching her zoom around like a whirlwind. After a few minutes and a second lap around the house, she returned to the living room, frustrated.
"Where's Aunt and Shreya?" she asked, placing her travel bag on the floor.
"Sit first," Om gestured.
She obeyed and sank into the sofa across from him, her breath still heavy from the search.
Om got up and walked into the kitchen. "Mom's out buying groceries. Didi's gone back to base," he called as he filled a glass of water.
Rudra jumped up and followed him. "What? Why would she leave already? It hasn't even been ten days since…"
Om handed her the glass. "There was an emergency. Her leave got canceled."
Rudra accepted the water, but her lips trembled. The trails of her earlier tears were still faintly visible on her cheeks. Om didn't mention it—he knew pointing it out would lead to a fight.
She took a long sip, and Om placed the empty glass in the sink before they walked back to the living room.
From behind him, she asked, "How are you holding up?"
Om had expected that question. He gave a small sigh. "I'm okay. But Mom and Didi… not so much."
She didn't press. They both knew it was a lie, but Rudra had learned when to let things go.
The front door opened.
Sharanya entered, bags of groceries in her hands. She looked up in surprise to see Rudra, and before she could react, the girl ran toward her and embraced her tightly.
"Auntie!"
Sharanya froze for a second, then smiled warmly and returned the hug. "When did you get back from your trip?" she asked.
"Just now," Rudra said, releasing her and stepping back.
Sharanya slipped off her sandals and walked further inside, her smile still in place. Rudra watched her carefully. She could see through the expression—see the quiet grief beneath it.
In a soft voice meant only for Sharanya, Rudra whispered, "I'm sorry about Uncle."
Sharanya paused in the hallway, back turned, and nodded once. "Thank you."
The house fell into a gentle silence after that.
Om returned to the sofa, switching off the television. The images of the military conflict still burned in his mind—the news about the Eternal Kingdom, the infiltration, the deaths.
Rudra came back and sat beside him, silent.
For a long while, they didn't speak. Words weren't necessary.
They were two people bound by memory, grief, and a bond forged long before sorrow entered their lives.
And together, they waited—for morning, for strength, for whatever would come next.