Unbound.

 It is a lazy sunday summer afternoon as I place my bag on the lustrous teak wood table. I let out a mental sigh!

 It requires Herculean effort to retrieve my laptop for work. I am a regular at the Longchamp cafe. It is normal for that cafe to play slow jazz while customers enjoy a cup of coffee but somehow the song , “Somewhere only we know”, booms on the speakers and breaks the monotonous commotion inside. In a split second, I transcend back to his arms. The song floods memories that are ready to pour out of my eyes. The barista snaps me out of my misery. He towers over the counter as he motions me to try the newly brewed concoction waiting on my table. I comply to do the needful as I am one of his unbiased coffee connoisseurs. The aroma of simmering hot coffee permeates my nose, calming my nerves.

 I gulp down the bittersweet realisation. It has been close to two long months since I’ve last heard from him. It would be wishful thinking that our brief encounter would etch his heart like it did mine. The red lights in my mind start to flash. I praise the coffee with a straight face but request for more orange zest.  My writers block has magically been lifted since I’ve come across this handsome stranger. He is undoubtedly the most memorable character, if I were to write my life as a memoir. A smile of reminiscence touches my  lips as I start typing. “The weather is clear.

 It’s a starry night. The moon is in it’s waxing phase on the horizon. The sea appears to be calm.”

Now, normally I would’ve not been so thorough with my description of the surroundings at sea which were… Spoiler Alert! Pitch dark. A lot has changed, something or rather someone has piqued my interest lately. 

First things first.

It all dates back to April 10, 2025. Since time immemorial, I’ve held the desire to go onboard a warship. I am always overwhelmed with the excitement I felt as a child when my father, a proud Navigating officer of the Indian Navy, used to take me along to flaunt his esteemed place of work. Believe you me, it was extraordinary. I was lucky to climb on a majestic Kolkata class ship. 

I pull all the strings possible which enable me to cover a media piece on the underbelly of intense operations carried out by Indian Naval Ships. With all my might I succeed and land up on our indigenous aircraft carrier. I stand on the jetty, take the salty sea breeze in and make my way to the gangway. I flash my Journalist ID which is entangled with my Dependent card. I am instructed to not photograph without permission and to always carry life jackets while moving on upper decks. I am early according to the scheduled timeline. So, I endeavour to find my way around on the carrier. It feels nothing short of Alice in Wonderland. 

I am snapped out of my delirium as his words of command reverberated in the adjacent room. It is the Ops room, I read it as I stumble upon the heavy door and pull the nearest chair to avoid being noticed. In the wee hours of a seemingly busy day, I blink tranquilly and try to absorb the pilot jargon with childlike fascination. After dismissal from the meeting, all personnel went past me except the Lieutenant who presided over the briefing. He seems like a hard taskmaster and I break into a sweat as he makes his way towards me. 

His deeply set olive black eyes burrowing into mine. I introduce myself as Iraa Iyer. He makes an educated guess to call me a journalist. He chortles at the fact, that he could come across as strict and aggressive. He calls himself, “Skiller.” Needless to say, he’s a top gun fanatic living the dream. 

It is an instant crush… Lieutenant Vihaan Bakshi. I relish the taste of his name on my lips. He intelligently takes my mind off by enlightening me regarding the various phases of moon that my Apple Watch could indicate. He also emphasises on how it is all related to waves and the wind envelope that are crucial for him to fly. The aircraft talks to you, he added. I could picture him standing in front of his Chetak recreating “How to train your dragon” in my head. I took a mental note of the only thing required is a name for his ride. 

“How fascinating”, are the only words that escaped my lips.  He bent down at every door to avoid banging his encyclopaedic head and whispered, “All this while I have been impatiently cutting the dates on my calendar counting, ‘Days Left To Go Home.’ It has been seven long months since I’ve stepped foot in my house…or been overfed by my mother and what I miss the most is oversleeping, smothered under my Labrador.” His voice got huskier, “We crossed paths so it hasn’t gone in vain I reckon,” he winked. His scent is the right mix of cologne and cigarettes. It seems like he walked out of a movie. Vihaan is tall, dark and handsome with a pleasant personality. 

He invites me to the wardroom where they serve meals and beverages onboard. He asks, how I like my coffee and before I can utter a word… he smirks and adds, “Hot and dark.” I look away but I am indeed enchanted. 

He introduces me to the rest of the crew. Everyone is amiable. Moreover, curious about my assignment. “Everything I say is scrutinised, questioned and published.” I quote myself from the column I famously write in the Times of India. The Captain of the carrier, being my dad’s course-mate, sends over the ship’s cap, which has my name on it. It is accompanied by the ship’s standard mugs and fridge magnets. 

Vihaan ransacks the gift hamper with a wicked grin. “Patches are exchanged not taken. Your dad must have an exquisite collection and you must be aware of the tradition.” He knew he touched a nerve as I love decorating my Thar’s roof with patches. I am a motor head and our conversation is carefully tailored around it. His psychical abilities are commendable but for what’s it worth, I think he’s a damn good Instagram stalker. “Talk to me goose!” I hold my phone with my Instagram page in his face. 

He flusters and looks away. Something other than the coffee is also brewing in the wardroom. He shows me around the magnificent ship. I try jotting down the nitty gritty from the Bridge which is the mastermind of the ship

to the engine room which is below the sea level. The sickbay comes across as a multi specialty hospital which is a relief considering the risky life onboard and the wild monsoon sea state. All this while, I am trying to place Lt Vihaan Bakshi. I have seen him somewhere, it is a strong sense of Déjà vu. I rattle my brains and realise he is the highlight at the commissioning of the gigantic aircraft carrier. No girl can escape his boyish charm. 

I bring out my findings and he is noticeably impressed. One could notice a tinge of narcissism buried deep in his dimples. 

Leaving harbour briefing and prepare for flying briefing were being held simultaneously in the bridge. Before I can make any sense of it all, the alleyway starts flooding with personnel in dungarees. Life jackets were secured at their waists. Safety is paramount. 

I relentlessly try to jog my memory and trace my steps back to the helo deck. It is surreal to witness everything I saw in Top Gun. Truth be told, I am a movie buff. The ship casts off. Flying operations follow. I never knew what butterflies were till I hear, “Chetak 495 airborne.” 

It is enthralling to see him perform flawless manoeuvres in air. Every personnel onboard helps me with their exhaustive explanations for every situation that propels. Two days have passed, in the blink of an eye. My stay on the ship is coming to an end. Vihaan tries to lighten up the air. He makes a witty remark by quoting, “They say that the vitals of the wounded soldiers on battle field improve by just the sound of a Medevac helicopter approaching them. That is what hope does in the face of adversity.” It is a line I could steal. From the corner of my eye, I could see him intelligently asking for us to exchange contact details. 

It has been a wholesome experience but the cherry on top is Vihaan being granted leave. I see him with new eyes when he chides me while offering to grace me with his presence in exploring Goa. Being a naval brat, I have left no stone unturned there but it is the first time, someone has swept me off my feet. We walk down the gangway together and rush to a fancy restaurant for breakfast . Surprisingly, without even opening the menu, we order French toast. By the end of the week, we had shopped, surfed and finished each other’s sentences.

“Iraa Iyer”, he breathes my name so effortlessly. I turn around to look over my shoulder, he has managed to grab a fresh rose from the dining table and is on his knees. “Will you grant me the honour of taking you to the Navy Ball?”

I sigh and retort, “It’s only April, you’ll have a lot of ladies swooning over you and waiting on you till December.” 

He furrows his eyebrows, but his eyes hint disappointment. Suspicious of his motives, I try not to let my thoughts spiral out of control. I smile and give his bottom a playful slap. He reluctantly packs his bags. I swallow the urge to say the words. I swear to God I would give anything to shout and tell the whole wide world that I love this man more than anything. 

Emotion bubbling inside, I blurt out, my parents used to bicker often. One day, the bickering ended. The silence of indifference was deafening. Out of the blue, my dad made filter coffee for my mom. I had craved for this day. Little do I know, it would be the last time the three of us would share a cup of coffee or a conversation under the same roof. I saw her leave with her suitcases, the next morning. 

Vihaan gave my shoulder a tight squeeze, and continued, “My dad was an ambitious banker. He was a math genius, which also proved to be a boon for our homework and a hockey enthusiast. One day he went to work and never came back.” The vibrant lieutenant’s eyes have a vacant look as he gazes back in the past. His voice quivers but he continues, “We can be cautious and pledge not to repeat our parents’ mistakes. The dramatic inevitability of irony is that, we’ll make our own mistakes. I strongly believe that our faith is a living thing because it walks hand in hand with doubt.” I am startled by his response. Nevertheless, his smile is warm and heart wrenching at the same time. We barely converse on our way to the airport. With a heavy heart, I wait till he disappears out of sight. He turns around umpteenth number of times to make it impossible for me to leave without tearing up. 

His phone calls are a blessing, they help me get through the day. We ended up disliking people, we’ve never met like I don’t like his Senior pilot and he doesn’t like my landlord. That’s not even the start of the list. I find his sincerity, disarming. 

The piece I covered on the Indian Navy is appreciated. Soon after, I am promoted to my dream job of Investigative Journalism. 

Fast forward to the time when things are heating up between India and Pakistan, the whole nation is keeping an eye on Op sindoor. I dread it all and history does repeat itself. The helplessness I felt as a daughter, comes back with a stabbing pain. I drown myself in work but no force will prepare me to see Vihaan in danger. It feels like I’m blithely walking towards an abyss from which I have no desire to escape. We try to call each other numerous times but cannot connect due to paucity of time and signals. I beg him to take of himself and come back to me. He puts an abrupt end to romanticism, declares our choices are definitive and it’s nearly impossible to change direction. I understand, he’s trying to make me strong and distant in case things go south. Unbidden, I feel a thrill of fear. 

With a wry smile he turns towards his aircraft. The profound implications he leaves behind cannot be fathomed. 

I am glued to the Television, absorbing every detail of the operations carried out between the two countries. I entertain the conspiracy theories too. Every night after work, I get into the shower and burst into tears. I cry there because no one can hear my sobs or ask me the question I hate most: “Are you alright?”

Sifting my way to the present day, I can see a crew cut turning heads in the cafe. My coffee is getting cold. His Meta Ray bans sparkle in the well lit haven. My heart flutters at the sight of him making his way to me. I chuckle when he waves his rusted horse shoe at me. He has enlightened me regarding the magical powers of the horse shoe. It is supposed to keep people out of trouble especially trouble seekers like himself. It was gifted to him by his Gunnery Instructor, to ward off bad luck when Sub lieutenant Vihaan had been admitted for Acute Kidney Injury two years ago. This unlikely sentimental step was taken to avoid anything that could jeopardise Academy’s star kid’s future and health. 

I want to skip to the part where we’re touching hands. He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear and it feels like home. 

“Thank you for giving me something people search all their lives for. I don’t want to live in a world without you.” His words echo as they gently caress my fragile heart.

My throat chokes with emotion. “Don’t drink the coffee, I don’t wish to perform heimlich on you.” He plants a peck on my cheek. My face turned a funny shade of red. 

Unlike the fake, predictable tasters of wine, he is real and chooses the surest way of making his point. It finally sinks in…what his gauge attempt at humour meant. With great solemnity, I put my fingers in the lukewarm coffee to fish for a ring. I pull it from the ocean’s depth and with sticky fingers, wipe the sparkling diamond ring on his corduroy shirt. 

I muster the courage and composure to say,

“It’s been a minute,” then let out a long sigh. I wear the ring on my slender finger. The ring  is a perfect fit and astonishingly compliments my starry nail art. Vihaan grins ear to ear and states, “There are no right answers.” My heart starts pounding again. I don’t answer. I simply smile and stroke his face.