The evening air was warm, carrying the faint scent of the sea. Inside the base, the teams sat together around a long, polished wooden table, plates filled with food that smelled like home-cooked comfort rather than the usual bland rations of a mission base. Laughter and light conversation mingled with the clinking of utensils.
Arav, raised his glass. "Here, we treat everyone like family. That's how we operate here—support each other, trust each other. So, eat like you belong."
Purvi chimed in cheerfully, "And no one goes hungry. That's a rule!"
Neha smiled, her eyes twinkling. "If you're part of this family, you're part of something bigger. You'll see—there's strength in togetherness."
Swayam picked at his food, his back perfectly straight, hands moving with mechanical precision. The warmth, the chatter, the laughter—it all felt foreign, alien. He observed the interactions silently, analyzing, measuring, but the concept of family—of belonging—was something he had never experienced. Something he didn't even know how to process.
After a few minutes, unable to endure the closeness, he quietly excused himself. "I'll… take a walk," he muttered. No one pressed him. They were used to his solitary ways.
The door slid open, and he stepped into the salt-tinged air of the nearby beach. Waves crashed softly against the shore, white foam curling over dark sand, and the setting sun painted the horizon in bruised purples and golds. He walked slowly, letting the sound of the ocean mask the quiet turmoil in his mind.
"Hey!" a cheerful voice called from behind.
He turned sharply, instincts kicking in, and found himself staring at a girl with bright eyes and a smile untouched by fear—innocence itself.
"I didn't expect to see anyone out here," she said, stepping closer, brushing sand off her shoes. "Why are you here alone?"
Swayam's gaze flickered, half-surprised, half-guarded. He thought she wouldn't recognize him—after all, he'd worn a mask earlier, kept his identity hidden. Yet here she was, bright and direct, looking straight at him.
"I… just walking," he said curtly, unsure how much to reveal.
Siya's smile softened, a spark of gratitude lighting her face. "No, I mean… thank you."
He froze, blinking. "Excuse me?"
"You saved me this morning," she said, her voice light but sincere. "At college… when the chaos happened. You were the one who—" she hesitated briefly, "…saved me."
Swayam's mind raced. How does she know? How could she possibly know it was me? His heart thumped uneasily under his calm exterior.
"How… do you know it was me?" he asked, voice low, sharp with curiosity.
Her gaze flickered toward the nape of his neck, where the small tattoo peeked from beneath his collar. "Your tattoo," she said simply. "I saw it this morning. That's how I knew."
Unconsciously, Swayam raised a hand to touch the spot. His fingers lingered for a moment before he pulled them away, the subtle awareness of being seen—truly seen—leaving him off balance.
She tilted her head, smiling gently. "What's your name?"
"Swayam," he replied, almost instinctively. "And… yours?"
"Siya," she said, the name light and musical, fitting her perfectly.
A pause fell between them, broken only by the waves lapping at the shore. Siya's curiosity didn't waver. "So… tell me, why are you here alone?"
Swayam's gaze turned toward the horizon, eyes tracing the darkening waters. He let out a slow, heavy sigh, shoulders tensing. "I was thinking," he admitted quietly, almost more to himself than to her.
"Thinking about…?" she pressed gently.
He hesitated, then muttered, voice low and distant, "Family…? What is it? I… I don't even know what it feels like to have someone around. To be cared for… to belong."
Siya's eyes softened, a quiet understanding in her gaze. She stepped closer, leaving just enough space to respect the barrier he unconsciously kept. Her voice was barely above a whisper, but firm in its gentle concern. "Your parents…?"
Swayam's expression hardened instantly, cold, almost indifferent. "I'm an orphan. I don't have family. Siblings. None of it. I… don't know. I've never known."
For a moment, the only sounds were the waves and the distant calls of gulls. Siya didn't speak. She simply fell into step beside him, matching his pace as he walked along the shoreline. Her presence was warm, quiet, unthreatening, and yet it pierced through his solitude in a way he wasn't ready to acknowledge.
After a few steps, she spoke softly, almost shyly, "Then… can I… just… be here with you?"
Swayam glanced at her briefly, unreadable, and then focused back on the sea. He didn't answer verbally, but he didn't move away either.
They walked in silence, two figures against the fading sun, waves curling at their feet, a fragile understanding growing in the quiet. Swayam's mind, usually so precise, cataloging, analyzing, found no words. Yet he felt it—an unfamiliar warmth, a subtle sense of belonging that didn't come from training, missions, or rules.
Siya's presence was a quiet rebellion against everything he had known, and for the first time in a long time, he let himself simply… exist.
Swayam's eyes remained fixed on the horizon, the waves reflecting the bruised purples and golds of the setting sun. Siya matched his pace, her small steps soft on the wet sand. After a moment, she spoke again, her voice light, almost teasing.
"So… do you always brood alone by the sea when life gets complicated?" she asked, half-smiling, half-curious.
Swayam blinked, the corner of his mouth twitching ever so slightly. "I… think better alone," he muttered, voice low, precise.
Siya laughed softly, the sound carried on the ocean breeze. "Hmm… okay, Mr. Broody. But you look like you're thinking about more than just strategy."
Her observation was casual, playful, yet piercing. He stiffened slightly, surprised at how easily she had read him.
"Do you… always talk to strangers on the beach?" he asked, a hint of dry humor in his voice.
"You're not a stranger," she replied with a smile, "I'm Siya. And you… you saved me. So maybe that gives me special privileges."
Swayam's hand unconsciously brushed the back of his neck, the spot where the tattoo peeked out. "Privileges," he repeated, almost to himself, a rare softness in his tone. "I'm… not used to this. Attention, Gratitude. "
Siya slowed her steps, letting him set the pace. "Then… let me be your attention. Just for tonight," she said softly, her eyes meeting his, filled with warmth, yet firm enough to hold his gaze.
He studied her, his mind working through years of instinctive wariness, but found no hidden danger in her smile, no trap in her voice. For the first time, he didn't feel the need to scan, to calculate, to protect.
"You… really don't understand what family means, do you?" she asked gently.
"I… know the concept," he admitted, voice quieter now, almost vulnerable, "but not the feeling. Not the… warmth. The laughter. The chaos. The… arguing over trivial things. I don't know."
Siya grinned, playful again, stepping just a little closer, nudging his shoulder lightly with hers. "Chaos, you say? Well… lucky for you, I happen to be excellent at introducing chaos. Guaranteed."
For the first time, Swayam's lips twitched in something close to a smile, but he quickly masked it.
"Hmm… chaos," he repeated, almost curious. "I'll… keep that in mind."
She giggled, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Good. You'll need it. Because honestly, Mr. Broody, you seem like someone who's never had someone to just… annoy you, make you laugh, or argue about whose turn it is to do the dishes."
Swayam let out a soft, almost imperceptible sigh, and for a fleeting moment, he looked like a young man rather than Agent. "I… never had that."
"Then tonight," she said softly, her tone warm but not overbearing, "consider it as a trial. You're allowed to just… be with someone. No rules, no missions, no masks."
He glanced at her, a mixture of surprise and caution in his eyes. "And why… would you do that? For me?"
She smiled, tilting her head, innocence and understanding blending seamlessly. "Because you saved someone who needed it… and now, someone's saving you—just with friendship. You might… need it more than you think."
Swayam said nothing for a long moment, watching the waves roll in. The tension in his shoulders eased fractionally, his hands unclenching. He allowed himself to simply walk beside her, letting the sound of her laughter mingle with the ocean breeze.
After a pause, Siya pointed to a line of sandcastles left behind by earlier children playing. "See that? That's chaos, too. Imperfect, messy… but somehow it works. Kinda like people."
He looked at the castles, small structures barely standing against the tide, and something flickered in his chest. "Messy… but it works," he repeated quietly.
"Yes," she said with a grin. "People are messy, Swayam. Families are messy. But maybe… that's what makes it worth it."
Swayam's eyes drifted back to the horizon, the sun nearly gone, and for the first time in a long while, he didn't feel entirely alone. Siya didn't push, didn't demand answers—she simply walked beside him, a quiet presence that was, inexplicably, comforting.
Finally, after a few moments of silence, she spoke softly, almost shyly. "Thank you… for this morning. But also… thank you for letting me sit here with you. Even if you don't talk much."
Swayam turned to her, eyes lingering on her face—the same innocence, the same bright curiosity he had noticed in the chaos of the morning. He didn't answer, but the subtle nod of his head, almost imperceptible, carried more than words could.
The waves continued to crash, the last light of the sun fading. Two figures walked along the shore, connected by a quiet understanding, by unspoken trust, by the fragile beginnings of something neither fully understood—but both felt.
And for Swayam, that was enough.
The night had fully settled over the beach, and the stars were reflected faintly in the dark waves. The air had cooled, carrying the crisp scent of salt and seaweed. Swayam and Siya walked slowly, side by side, the soft sound of their footsteps mingling with the rhythmic crash of the surf.
Siya finally broke the silence, her voice soft, almost hesitant. "You… don't seem like the type to let anyone get close. Not really. But… tonight, I feel like you're… letting me in."
Swayam's eyes stayed on the horizon, but his shoulders relaxed slightly. "It's… temporary," he murmured, voice low, controlled. "Not… permanent. Don't mistake it."
She laughed softly, a sound like wind chimes. "Temporary is still something, Swayam. And sometimes… something is enough to start."
He said nothing. He simply allowed her to walk beside him, feeling a subtle warmth that he wasn't sure he knew how to process.
Suddenly, a faint noise broke the calm—a subtle rustle from the dunes behind them. Swayam froze instantly, muscles tensing, every instinct screaming alert. He silently shifted a step closer to Siya, scanning the shadows with trained precision.
"Did you hear that?" he whispered.
Siya glanced around, eyes wide."I… think so," she admitted softly. "Probably… someone else walking?"
Swayam's gaze narrowed. "No… that's different."
From the shadows, a small digital device—emitting a faint red light—landed softly on the sand a few feet ahead of them. Swayam's eyes tracked it immediately, analyzing, calculating, instinctively moving before Siya could react.
He crouched, lifting the device carefully, and his eyes flickered to the small screen. A message appeared:
"We know she's with you. Don't get careless. —Unknown"