Love is in the air - Chapter 3

 Chapter 3: The Unspoken

After that incident in the mess, something strange began to shift within me. 

I found myself drawn toward him.

It wasn’t something I planned or even understood. We sat at separate tables, always facing each other, always aware of the other’s presence. There were no words between us, but there was something… unspoken.

My friends couldn’t stand him.

They constantly complained—about how he interfered, what he said, and how he behaved. I listened carefully to every word, not because I agreed, but because I wanted to know more about him.

We had never spoken.

Yet, somehow, it felt like we already had.

I became curious about his name.

I would quietly listen to conversations around him, trying to catch a clue. One day, I heard someone call out, “Rohan!” But I wasn’t sure.

So, I went to the notice board at the entrance where the list of trainees was displayed. There were only two names starting with ‘R’—Rohan and Rehan. One was from Bangalore, the other from Kerala.

I had already spoken to the one from Bangalore.

That left only one possibility.

'Rehan'.

The first weekend arrived, bringing a three-day break. Most of our batch planned a trip out of town. We returned late on Monday night, exhausted.

I went straight to the mess for dinner.

It was too early; dinner wasn’t ready yet. The place was empty—except for one person standing near the counter.

HIM.

“Anna, dinner is not ready yet? I’m really hungry,” I called out casually.

He turned.

For a second, my heart skipped.

But I composed myself and walked toward the counter.

“How long will it take?” I asked.

“Five minutes, madam,” he replied. “You can wait. The boy is bringing it.”

Now I had no choice but to stay.

Or maybe… I wanted to.

Then he spoke.

“Where were you for so many days? This place felt deserted. So boring.”

I froze inside.

Was he… noticing my absence? Thinking about me?

A hundred thoughts rushed through my mind in a matter of seconds.

But outwardly, I stayed calm.

“Why?” I smiled. “Were you missing me?”

He looked down and laughed.

I laughed too.

That moment felt… easy.

The next day, he asked one of my batchmates about our trip. And that evening, as I walked through the corridor, I saw him standing there.

I tried to ignore him. I didn’t want to seem eager.

But just as I crossed him—

“Hi.”

I stopped.

"Hi", I smiled.

“How are you?”

“I’m good. You?”

“I’m good. Class over?”

“Yes.”

“And gym?”

I raised an eyebrow.

So, he had been observing too.

“Yes, done.”

“Are you in a hurry?”

“No.”

“Then stay… we can talk.”

I laughed softly. “Sure.”

“Your name is Suman, right?”

“Yes. And you’re Rehan.”

He looked surprised. “How do you know?”

“Just like you know.”

We both laughed.

We spoke about our families.

I told him about my husband, my five-year-old daughter, and my in-laws.

He told me about his parents, his brother, his sister-in-law, and his sister.

I paused.

He wasn’t married.

“How old is your daughter?” he asked.

“Five.”

“You don’t look like a mother to a five-year-old.”

I smiled.

“So, what are your plans this weekend?” he asked.

“My classmates are planning a day trip to Golden Beach.”

“Oh…” he looked away for a moment.

“What?”

“Actually, we’re planning dinner at a famous restaurant nearby. I thought… if you’d like to join us.”

“And that’s at night, right” I pointed out.

“Yes.”

“And we’re going out during the day.”

He laughed.

“What time will you go?”

“Around 7:30.”

“That’s early,” I said. “I can’t say for now.”

“That’s okay. Take my number. Call me if you’re free.”

“Fine. If I don’t call, you go ahead.”

I saved his number.

And walked away.

That night, sleep didn’t come easily.

I kept thinking about him.

Is he really single?

Why does he feel so different?

And then, almost involuntarily—

He’s… attractive.

In the days that followed, we barely spoke.

But somehow, we were always around each other.

Same time at the gym.

Same time for walks.

Same time at meals.

It felt intentional—on both sides.

Our conversations were silent.

Our eyes did all the talking.

There was something about the way he looked at me.

It wasn’t just a glance—it lingered.

Magnetic. Unsettling. Beautiful.

We met just to say "hello", yet those brief moments stayed longer than full conversations.

Then came the day.

'The Saturday. 1st of July.'

We had a 3 km run early in the morning. The Chennai air was humid, but the early breeze made it bearable.

We assembled at 5:45 AM. The race began at 6.

As we ran, I saw him ahead—already returning from the turning point.

He was leading.

And in that moment, something inside me shifted.

He looked strong. Focused. Effortless.

Attractive.

That sight pushed me forward.

I ran faster.

In the final stretch, someone shouted from behind,

“Come on, ma’am! Let’s race!”

I pushed harder.

And I didn’t stop until I crossed the finish line.

First.

Later, during the announcement—

“In airmen, Rehan",

“In females… Suman.”

He looked at me.

And smiled.

I smiled back.

We both knew.

Tonight mattered.

As we stood near the lemon water table, he handed me a glass.

I took it.

My friends noticed.

Reema nudged me, raising her eyebrows teasingly.

I just smiled… and looked away.

Soon after, we got ready for the trip to Golden Beach.

We left at 10 AM. 

I laughed, danced, went on rides—did everything I was supposed to. 

But my mind wasn’t there.

It was somewhere else.

With one question—

Should I call him… or not?

And finally, at 5:30 PM, I did.

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Love is in the air - Chapter 2

 Chapter 2: The Mess Table

We reached Chennai around noon and took a taxi to the Air Force Station in Tambaram. It was my first time inside any defence establishment, and I had no idea about the rules or the discipline such places followed. But what I experienced there stayed with me long after—it was something I could never forget. 

As soon as we got down at the airmen’s mess, a staff member hurriedly told us to have lunch before it closed. Our early morning flight had been delayed, and by the time we collected our luggage and reached the station, we were exhausted and starving..

Dressed casually in capris, sleeveless tops, and floaters, Priya and I walked into the mess. It was nearly empty. We quietly had our meal and were later allotted our billets. Since the course was to begin the next day and it was a Sunday, the mess remained quiet even during dinner.

The next morning, however, was different.

The moment we entered the mess, conversations paused. Eyes turned. It was one of those uncomfortable silences where you suddenly become too aware of your presence.

People began asking questions.

“What course have you come for?”

“PRCN for ANOs,” I replied calmly.

“Where are you from?”

“Delhi.”

We found our seats and continued with breakfast, trying to ignore the attention. The atmosphere strangely reminded me of my hostel days—except with a twist. Back then, we girls used to stare at overly dressed newcomers. Here, the roles were reversed.

At that point, we didn’t know why.

That afternoon, we arrived late for lunch—around 2 PM. The mess was crowded. We took our plates and stood near an empty table, waiting for seats to free up.

I was just about to place my plate down when a mess staff member rushed toward me.

“Madam, stop!”

I looked at him, confused. He was an elderly man, tall, slightly balding, dressed in loose pale trousers and a cream shirt.

“What happened?” I asked.

He hesitated, then said softly, “Madam… the officers are upset. They are asking why civilians are sitting with them. That corner table is for you. Please don’t sit here.”

For a moment, I was stunned.

So this was the reason behind all the questions. The stares. The curiosity.

Then came the anger.

“Anna,” I said firmly, “first of all, this table is empty—and we weren’t even sitting yet. Secondly, there are 19 of us and only 10 chairs there. Should we stand and eat? If there’s a problem, increase the number of chairs.”

I placed my plate down deliberately and asked Shuchi to do the same.

“You and your officers can have the food. We don’t want it.”

The entire hall fell silent. All eyes were on us now.

The staff member looked nervous. “No, madam, please have your food…”

But we walked away.

About forty-five minutes later, a voice called out, “Madam…!”

We turned. It was the same staff member, standing near the stairs.

“Madam, please come. We have made arrangements for you.”

“Why?” I replied. “Serve your officers. We don’t need it.”

“Please madam… just come once.”

Priya looked at me and nodded. We went back.

What we saw surprised us.

Two large tables had been joined together under the fans, with nearly thirty chairs arranged neatly around them.

“Don’t be angry, madam,” he said gently. “We only follow orders. In the morning, we were told that officers will not sit with civilians… so we were asked to separate you.”

I took a breath.

“Can you tell me who said this?”

“I don’t know his name, madam. He is new. But I will point him out during dinner.”

I nodded. “Alright. Now please give us food—we are really hungry.”

And just like that, the tension dissolved into laughter.

Dinner, however, was even more interesting.

We arrived on time. By then, the other male ANOs had already been informed about the “separate table” and were seated there.

As the mess filled up, something unusual happened.

All the seats at the officers’ tables were occupied. But at our table—meant for just 19 people—there were still many empty chairs.

Yet, not a single officer came and sat there.

They stood, holding their plates, waiting.

Waiting… rather than sitting with us.

Priya and I exchanged amused glances. I deliberately chose a seat that gave me a full view of the mess. It was a scene I didn’t want to miss.

After a while, the mess boy came over with chapatis and subtly signalled toward a man across the room—the one who had raised the issue in the morning.

I looked at him.

He was already looking at me.

For a second, we just stared at each other.

And then I burst out laughing.

That moment taught me something.

Arrogance isn’t about rank. It’s about mindset.

It’s not just high-ranking officers who expect special treatment. Such attitudes exist everywhere—in every field, at every level.

This silent standoff continued until the next day.

Finally, during dinner, two officers walked up to our table, pointed at the empty chairs, and asked politely,

“Can we sit here?”

I smiled.

“Of course, sir. Please. We don’t discriminate. After all, we are teachers.”

And believe me, a day came—about a month later—when the same person invited me to his table for lunch.

But that’s a story for another time. 😉

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Love is in the air - Chapter 1

 

Chapter 1: The Beginning

This is a short story—one that I hope keeps you hooked until the very end.

Before we begin, let me clarify: the places mentioned in this story are inspired by real locations I’ve visited. Their names may sound familiar, but their descriptions may not always match reality. The workplaces may share names, but everything else is fictional. Most importantly, every character in this story is purely imaginary.

The day my flight took off from Delhi, my mind was a storm of thoughts. I wasn’t just travelling—I was trying to escape. Escape from people, from expectations, from everything that had slowly become too heavy to carry.

The official reason was a training program. But in truth, it was my way out. I had decided that in this new city, I would find a job, build a life, and never return to the one I was leaving behind. I didn’t want to depend on anyone anymore.

The scorching summer heat outside mirrored the turmoil inside me. My heart burnt with questions I had no answers to. I had never wished harm upon anyone, never done anything wrong intentionally—so why did life keep testing me? Why did everything I wanted slip away, while everything I tried to avoid found its way to me?

Maybe the answer was simple—I never learnt how to say 'NO'.

That silent struggle, so common among many Indian women, had led me here. To a point where I didn’t want to care anymore. I just wanted to leave quietly, without telling anyone—because if someone asked me to stay, I knew I wouldn’t have the strength to refuse.

This two-month training camp, organised by the NCC, became my perfect excuse. A certified ANO programme — it sounded professional and purposeful. But for me, it was a much-needed break from the chaos of my life.

The night before my departure, I stayed awake, talking to my younger brother, Karan. Conversations with him were always special. We never got enough time together, but whenever we did, we spoke freely—heart to heart.

Being the eldest, I had responsibilities. Being the youngest, Karan had innocence. Somewhere in between, we connected deeply. Our other brother, Dhruv, had always been more of a guardian figure—someone we respected, but never quite opened up to.

So, our secrets remained between us.

Early the next morning, Karan drove me to the Delhi airport from Karnal. As we stood there, something felt off—like a quiet goodbye that carried more weight than it should.

I hugged him tightly, holding on a little longer than usual. Raksha Bandhan was still forty days away, but I handed him his Rakhi in advance.

I didn’t say much. I didn’t need to. I knew he would understand why I was leaving and why I might not come back the same.

At the airport, I met Priya—the woman who would be travelling with me for the same training. She was 41 and recommended by her organisation. We had only spoken over the phone and met briefly once before.

As I stood in the check-in queue, she walked in wearing a loose orange t-shirt and black capris—completely different from the traditional attire I had seen her in earlier.

The first time we met, I had quietly judged her. I assumed we had nothing in common, that her company would bore me.

I couldn’t have been more wrong.

That journey would soon teach me the meaning of “Don’t judge a book by its cover". Priya was about to become my unexpected companion—my partner in crime. Through her, I would witness different shades of life and human nature I had never imagined.

And unknowingly, this trip was about to change everything.

“Hi, you are Priya?” I asked.

“Yes… and you must be Suman,” she smiled.

We were both carrying far more luggage than allowed. At the check-in counter, an airport staff member pointed it out.

“You may have to pay extra for this,” he said, “or transfer some items to your hand luggage.”

Determined to avoid extra charges, we quickly started rearranging things—stuffing items into handbags, polybags, and even Priya’s purse.

"For the first time", I laughed, “I think I should start carrying a big handbag like everyone else."

I had always preferred small sling bags. Large purses were never my style.

I managed to slip through boarding without my hand baggage being weighed—but Priya wasn’t as lucky. Somehow, she still convinced the staff to let her pass.

I had done an online check-in and secured a window seat—right behind the emergency exit, with extra leg space. It was perfect.

But when Priya asked if she could sit by the window, I did what I always did.

I smiled and gave it up.

Once we settled in, struggling with our overloaded bags, Priya tried to fit hers under the seat. An air hostess approached us.

“I’m sorry, ma’am. Since you are seated near the emergency exit, this bag cannot be kept here.”

Priya, slightly irritated, responded, “Then where should I take it? I can’t send it back home.”

I gently held her hand, signalling her to stay calm. After all, we knew we were bending the rules.

The air hostess offered to keep the bag safely and return it after landing. We agreed without hesitation.

And then, finally, the plane took off.

As the ground beneath me disappeared, so did the life I was trying to leave behind.

I leaned back, closed my eyes, and made a quiet promise to myself:

From this moment on, I would live on my own terms.

No expectations. No obligations. No fear.

Just me—and my choices.

Right or wrong, they would be mine.

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