Being called “Flight Lieutenant Samaira Saxena” was my teenage dream. Realising it was just the beginning, I knew I had more to conquer. Born and brought up in the scenic mountainous town of Kasauli, Himachal Pradesh, the skies had been closer to me. I’m used to the fresh, cold air, the scent of musk and deodar, the never-ending chill of the nights and soft daylight so much — the scorching heat at Kota was a trouble to deal with. My pilot training with the Indian Air Force had been in Ooty; it was bearable. At Kota, Rajasthan, where I was officially deployed, I was a goner. I was sweating buckets, dealing with skull-breaking headaches. A rookie pilot who couldn’t handle her schedules and collapsed, inviting ridicule from those who had it in control. Terms like “unfit” “incompetent” followed me everywhere. Those comments didn't affect me. They hurt my pride, of course. I used them to fuel my purpose. It was something my Par Dada taught me. I'm proud of my progress, yet aware of the distance ahead. That's my only thought. How do I get better? Job remains my focus, though I worry about those at home from time to time. Even with friends and colleagues at the airbase, loneliness isn’t a strange emotion. I journal sometimes at night, inside my bunk bed, just before going to sleep. Again, a habit I picked up from my Par Dada.  I wonder how everyone at home is doing? A young man in his twenties, my Par Dada served the IAF during the Indo Pakistani war of 1947-48. It left him blind in one eye; the aftermath didn’t encourage my Dada, who chose a simple homely life in the mountains and became a strawberry farmer. Dada no longer lives but Par Dada does, still active in his ripe old age. Papa, who followed in the footsteps of his father, never approves of him. Par Dada doesn't fault Papa for his tranquil life, but Papa blames him for fuelling my dreams.  I remember back in the day… I was a high schooler when I wrote in my journal— My dream that keeps me enraptured, isn’t a happenstance, but my heart’s stance. I snap to the present and look at my journal. I could never convince them. Are they still arguing about my career choice? Nothing comes to write. I put my pen away and succumb to slumber. *** Days in the Air Force start early. Fourteenth of February is blazing hot in Kota. I approach the hangar number two and sigh. Testing flights in the glaring sunlight. My skin will blister again. Maa's aloe gel is a saviour, but I hope to become immune to this heat.  Lunch break. Valentine’s Day is irrelevant for those in the armed forces, or so I thought. But I see some officers eager to phone their spouses, some during the break-time in the mess hall, discussing their old crushes. I’ve never had a crush on anyone. Am I an odd one out, as my best friend Riya described? We went to the same school and had mutual friends, one of them being Karan. As she pursued her dream romance, I fantasised about joining the airforce. But I watched enough flicks to know how love stories go. She’s had it easy. Loyal best friend cum boyfriend, their relationship approved by parents. They are now engaged. I crack a smile, remembering the grins on their faces when I last met them. I missed their engagement. Will I miss their wedding too? Is this the life I chose, away from those dear to me? To a soldier, love and friendship hold no importance. All attachments need to be detached. That’s how I can get better at my job. My Par Dada didn’t teach me this, but isn’t that how it goes? Valentine’s night. My journal entry before I go to bed reads: (As an officer, I don't write about my work or anything that threatens national security. I capture my thoughts and experiences in free verses. I’m not poetic, but here goes—) How can loving be so beautiful To love is to lose I know only a little of what attachment will serve Heartache, I’m afraid, is turning me into a recluse Yet my defying my will asks, what’s unknown? Will it make itself known?  *** “Inter armed forces sports meet? On leap day?!! I'm one of the twelve air force candidates chosen for the event! Among the many officers who could have been chosen!” I’m filled with pride and dread receiving the order form from my direct superior. My air force career began five years ago. Three years in training. Two years as an officer. My disbelief at being chosen must be written on my face. Oops, I expressed my thoughts... My superior speaks quickly— “You have the choice to relinquish and let someone take this opportunity.” Squadron leader Inayat Talsim is intimidating. I look him in the eye and shake my head. “I can’t allow it, sir!” The corner of his lips twitch in a smile. We exchange quick salutes.  *** On D day, I deduce my friends have more faith in me than I do. I arrive at the CIJWS, Vairengte, a bundle of nerves. Sure, my athletic-self scaled the cliffs of Kasauli, but is she ready for a guerrilla warfare drill? This is a sports competition! Keep the positive spirit, girl… I give myself a cheek pat. After the initial check, I’m shown to the spacious dorms. A staff member mentioned that a floor of the building has been allocated for the ladies. Are there only a few ladies? Why? I mull this over but find no answer. I'm free for the rest of the day since the event is at night. February 29. Leap Day. Who knew the armed forces had a four yearly event like this? *** Around sunset at 5, I join the CIJWS staff and 102 officers from three forces for cheers. They are all dressed in overalls, like me, faces camouflaged. I take my spot amongst them somewhere in the middle. The women officers are all taller than me. I push past them and stand in the front row. A tone of authority cuts through the chatter.  The surroundings go still, broken by the distant cry of birds in the nearby trees. The lush greenery has a soothing effect. Also, the relaxing afternoon in the dorms helped. I’m calm as a lake. Our commander gets down to business. Quick teams of three are to scale Neele Pahad by dawn, cruising their way through the obstacles along the way. There are thirty different routes one can find? This is mind-boggling.  No use of technology, though. Some sensors attached to the front of our uniform will alert our monitoring supervisors of any mortal peril we might find ourselves in. The comm device and night vision goggles that only our team leaders possess will be our guiding light. The commander doesn't choose team leaders. A whistle blown signals the beginning of the special drill. I sigh and face my team. There's a breezy guy from the navy, another stern-looking one from the army, and I — each representing our forces with the crests on our overalls. The navy guy speaks first. “Hey, I’m Milind! You’re Sam? Samiksha? Sameera? Samyukta?” He attempts to guess my full name based on the short name on my uniform. “Samaira.” “Samaira.” Milind points to my hair. “Your hair is so curly. How do you even hold it in an updo?”  What a cheeky guy. My mind screams "flirt" as we shake hands and I’m treated to his full-blown smile. Flirts aren’t unusual, especially amongst those of the same rank. Officers are serious, so guys like Milind bring a relaxed vibe. I hope Milind is one of them and is not a true flirt. After all, we are soldiers. “Akira.” I snap to my senses at the voice that is not Milind’s. It’s harsh, authoritative, like the rattle of a raven, but it’s also reassuring. Akira is all he says. Ha, I can read it from his overalls. If he’s in the army, what rank? Which base? Right, the rule is to not disclose our identities. I can’t ask either of them. It’s another bizarre rule to test our team bonding without knowing one another on a basic, personal level. I’m liking this tournament. “Who’ll be the team leader?” Akira already has the goggles in his hand. He and Milind volunteer, but I’m not about to back out. I may be younger than these two, but I trust in my own capabilities. However, I backtrack, not wanting to start an argument when Milind breezily decides Akira is the best choice. “We don’t have time for pleasantries. After me!” I follow Akira’s broad back that leads us ahead. Milind jogs next to me. Our sojourn begins. Akira… What kind of name is that, unless you're a manga character? What a demanding guy. I don’t even get a handshake? *** We pass a stream, climb rope ladders, wooden planks, crawl through the pre-set up tunnels in the dark. Akira spots the scant, rocky edges that Milind and I cannot see. His commands are our anchor. We can only rely on him for instruction — where to put our feet, what to grab, when to bend, when to rise or crouch. Spotting things can be difficult, even with our instincts. But Akira doesn’t miss a beat, always guiding us. Bound by rope, we climb another uphill path, gravel crunching beneath our feet. One misstep, all three of us can take the blow. I see why this involves a lot of teamwork. But I trust in our leader, in our team. Trust must be established quickly during a sudden mission to avoid failure and irreparable damage. The CIJWS tested all paths in this drill. That’s reassuring. *** Out of the 34 teams that started off on 34 different paths, we end up the second team to arrive on top of the Neele Pahad. Akira plants our team’s red flag in the dirt. The sun's first rays shine into my eyes. I squint to adjust to the brightness. Akira then passes me the last sip from our collective water bottle.  "Thank you," I say as I wipe my face and glance at him. Milind is seated on a rock. The first team is already departing for the descent. I hear Milind say, “we still have time to beat them, don’t we?” “Drink…” Akira’s voice gets me looking at him again. We disguised our faces, so this is my first glimpse of his face without filters. There’s something about his hazel eyes, that chiselled chestnut coloured face. He’s stunning in the first light of the dawn! If I were to write in my journal now, I'm sure I would. Why is my heart thudding so fast? The first ever sight of you has me mesmerised  Who are you exactly, Mr Stranger? His lips quirk up, noticing my stare. It’s a brief polite smile. He turns his back on me after giving me the water bottle. *** The descent proves challenging despite daylight. We all are worn out and hungry. Akira shared his energy bar with us, bending “rules” a bit, but it’s not enough. To add to the woes, I twist my ankle over a protruding root midway. I save my face, but my poor ankle isn’t in shape to walk. Akira offers me a piggyback ride. Milind jumps and offers the same, splits second later saying why can’t it be him? Akira shrugs. “I asked first. It’s up to Samaira to choose.” I suppress a gasp. That’s the first time he’s said my name. It’s nothing, but it’s special. I can’t breathe. Why… I heard Milind say it in a thousand different ways and Milind is equally charming. Akira, saying it nonchalantly, is speeding up my heartbeat. What is this feeling? If I'm drawn to him, why? Is it his steadfastness as a leader? Or something else?  He’s looking at me expectantly. I shift on my feet and wince. “Right, I have to choose…” I’m bummed by the development and feel I’m now a burden to my team. My new conflicting feelings towards my team leader add to the turmoil. This is bad. I have to get a grip. Akira senses my mood. Millind does it a second later. “You don’t have to be guilty. This is a part of team responsibility.” Who would you choose when faced with Milind’s smug grin and ambiguous question and Akira's solemn stare? My choice is obvious. I climb on to Akira’s back. Milind whistles playfully, earning Akira’s death glare. I laugh, already feeling a bond form between us. Akira supports me while I wrap my arms around his neck. Milind keeps lamenting about his luck all the way throughout our descent. His light banter is the balm to our exhausted souls. I occasionally laugh and exchange a jab or two with him. Akira remains silent, though I spy a smile or a soundless chuckle leaking out of him occasionally. “Never knew Akira was your type…” My face flushes at Milind’s sudden remark.  “That… that comment is going too far, Milind. Take it back.” I choke out the words. Akira too joins me in a deep voice. “Yeah, cut that Milind.” Is that what it is? Is Akira my type? Am I falling for this guy? I try not to encourage these thoughts. Silence falls over us. Akira and Milind are aware of the path to take. For all the lark, Milind has merit. Am I the only one who can't get the directions from last night? I have a lot to learn! Despite my injured pride, I’m glad I attended this drill. I cling to Akira’s back with these thoughts. *** It rains halfway down. Shivering, we arrive at the base camp to roaring cheers. We’re the second team to make it back. Had I not slowed my team, we could have been the first. The rest is a blur. The prize distribution, certificate of honour… Breakfast served is so teekha, I choke. I’m in my corner, seated on a rock next to a tree. It’s a surprise that Akira still comes to my aid with a water bottle. He’s quite considerate, isn’t he? “You…” he says as I struggle to thank him while chugging the water. “You did well. Held yourself well for a newcomer. We were starving, and the trail was a challenge. That foot of yours… Good job.” “Huh, didn’t you carry me?” “You allowed me to. You trusted me as a team leader, weren’t egoistic but assertive.” Assertive? Did he mean the time I used my kerchief to bind my foot and walked during the descent? I said, “With the daylight and the path no longer rocky, I don’t see why you must strain yourself to carry me, Akira.” He dropped me to the ground. He and Milind maintained my pace, despite their capability to walk faster. “I still slowed us down.” Akira smiles. He scrutinises my face longer than usual and I feel conscious. Do I look okay? My, he’s quite the looker. Even more handsome than he was at dawn. “It rained, Samaira. The terrain was slippery.” “Well, you seemed to hold it well, Akira.” “I’m familiar with it. I once trained here.” As a commando? Wide-mouthed, I stare at Akira. he’s gone before I even blink. I can’t spot him again. Though I find Milind getting familiar with every officer and staff. Akira, man, I would have given you a compliment if you stayed. How do you view me? You can’t think I’m some ditzy air force officer, right? You praised me, so that must mean a good impression. *** Before we are dispersed to catch our rest, the commander claps his hands. “What’s the point of the drill?” Honest answers slip out of the first group. “Training.” “I don’t know.” “Endurance drill.” Lots of other generalised answers, too. Akira says, “it taught me the more we face challenges, the more we can rise to them, sir.” Milind says, “I have learnt to work as a team to move, to blindly trust our leader.” I clear my throat when the commander’s eyes focus on me. “This drill is one of many well-learned lessons for me, sir. The field is unpredictable no matter how trained you are for it.” The commander chuckles — the first human expression on the veteran soldier's face. “Yes, it is good to learn. This drill is to boost your confidence, to know you can face any challenge.” *** The staff throw a party at night. I can’t find Akira. A conference hall has been transformed into a ballroom for the occasion. The pleats on my maxi dress ripple like waves as I hop on my injured ankle, in vain.  I find Akira eventually — tall, elegant in his suit, but can’t bring myself to approach him. Who cares if that rule still applies? If this is a kismat connection, we’ll meet again, right? Is this love? So far, I have only loved my country! Boy, do I know I’m going to regret my actions later… *** Days pass, turning to months after I return to my regular duties in Kota. In the fleeting moments between my tasks, I think of my little adventure in Mizoram. Akira, Milind — do they even remember me? Akira in particular. I recall my conversation with my mom that I had last night. “Take leave and get married.” I told her I'm too young to marry at 26. If I were to marry…. Wait, why did Akira's face pop into my mind? We barely know each other. Although if I tell mom there is a guy, she will start asking questions about his background, even his caste. Seriously, I am getting ahead of myself… *** Late August is when I visit home. Technology allows my Par Dada and I to livestream national news on TV. That evening after chai-nashta, I find him wistfully going over various medals recipients, among which some of them have been posthumously awarded. The name of one “Akira Jain” of North-eastern Command, aged 29, catches my eye. Martyred in a fight against the militants when deployed in Srinagar, he was awarded the “Kirti Chakra” posthumously. My world spins for a moment. I pretend I’m okay and slip into a casual conversation with Par Dada. Maa and Papa soon join us. Credible information exists online, but I'm afraid. This is selfish, I know, but I want Akira to live. I want this Akira to be someone else. But then how many Akiras can there be in the force? *** I return to Kota. My enquiries don’t lead to any coherent conclusion. I couldn't find a picture of the deceased Akira. Maybe Milind can confirm? To think I was hoping we’d all meet at another Leap Day drill… I was so naïve. My love is doomed before it even begins. Even if what I feel isn’t love, the sadness of a soul, a comrade departing, is depressing. I didn’t cry at home but now, alone in my bunk bed at the residential quarters… A single tear escapes my eye. I jot down an entry in my journal.  How shall I live  in a world without you? It hurts.  Even more so, because my world revolved around yours while yours didn’t. This heartbreak is natural; I am human, after all. But if a miracle could take me to the Mizoram's clifftop, Akira would smile at me, and I’d tell him my heart’s desire without hesitation. “Who’re you? I want to know you better.” I won't regret not being able to reach him if I can pay homage. I need to find out if he's dead alive. Glossary: CIJWS — Counter-Insurgency and Jungle Warfare School (CIJWS) in Vairengte, Mizoram. Author’s note: This is all but a small tribute to the sacrifices our armed forces personnel make on a day-to-day basis. Fictional but still true. Read the sequel here: Us, Against All Odds