Before You Go!
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The room was quiet — not silent, just quiet in a way only 6 a.m. in Delhi could be.
Filtered sunlight danced lazily through the cream curtains of a sprawling Lutyens' flat. The table clock blinked 06:32 A.M., ticking into the same moment Chhayika Mishra had been born, twenty-four years ago, on Achala Saptami — just as the sun's final rays began to bow down and the shadows crept up. An unusual birth hour for Achala Saptami, which celebrates sunrise, not sunset. But that February evening in the early 2000s, winter had cloaked Delhi in long shadows well before dusk.
The air in the kitchen was warm and comfortable, but it could never entirely erase the tension. Chhayika stood at the stove, hair tied in a messy bun, rolling parathas with one hand while scanning a mission brief with the other. Focused, sharp, a multitasker like only she could be.
"Masi Ma! You burned the ends again!"
A high-pitched giggle erupted from behind her.
Chhayika turned, letting the spatula rest on the counter. There, sat on a small chair, was Bhumi.
Four years old. Eyes like her father. Smile like her mother.
Chhayika could see the shadows in those eyes. She always did. The way they always looked like they were searching for something, like they understood more than they let on.
"Thoda jala hua paratha toh aapko har roz chahiye hota hai na, soldier?" she teased, smiling faintly as she ruffled her niece's hair.
"Only if it comes with double achaar, Commander Masi Ma."
The code names were a game between them, a world they had built out of their shared solitude. Only Bhumi had the privilege to call her that, and in that small ritual, Chhayika found something she could hold on to.
Bhumi took a small bite, then exaggerated a dramatic frown, lifting the paratha with both hands like it was a foreign object. "Ugh, this looks disgusting, Masi Ma. How could you make something so... so... burnt?" Her voice was thick with playful disdain, but the corners of her mouth twitched with a suppressed grin.
Chhayika raised an eyebrow, barely holding back a smile. "Disgusting, huh? You're the expert, I see. Should I make you a new one?"
"No need," Bhumi replied, grinning now and taking another bite. "It's actually... kinda good. Just not as good as last time."
Chhayika chuckled softly, her eyes softening as she watched her niece enjoy the meal despite the theatrics. "You're a tough critic, Bhumi. Don't tell your mom I make parathas like this, or she'll start giving me cooking lessons."
"Don't worry, Masi Ma," Bhumi said, her eyes shining with mischief. "I'll keep it a secret.".
For a moment, the world outside seemed to disappear. The ticking of the clock, the distant rumble of traffic on the streets below — none of it mattered. It was just the two of them.
"Masi Ma, do you think my papa is still with me?" Bhumi asked suddenly, her tone so casual, yet laced with an emotion Chhayika couldn't ignore.
Chhayika froze, her grip on the spatula tightening for just a moment before she spoke. "I think he's always with you, little one. In the way you laugh, the way you love."
"But you know, I miss him." Bhumi's voice was soft, but there was something heavy in it. Something too old for her four years.
The girl looked down at her plate, and Chhayika saw the quiet grief in her eyes — the kind of grief only children could hide so effortlessly.
"I miss him too," Chhayika replied, her voice steady despite the knot in her chest. "But we carry him in our hearts. And that's enough, Bhumi. That's enough."
The silence that followed was soft and familiar, a quiet understanding passing between them that neither of them could fully articulate. Bhumi didn't ask more questions. She didn't need to.
Instead, she changed the topic, eager to return to the world of make-believe they'd built. "Masi Ma, when I grow up, I want to be a soldier just like you. But... with a ponytail, not a bun."
Chhayika laughed, her heart a little lighter as she nodded. "You can be whatever you want, Bhumi. But remember, soldiers don't get to run from anything. They face it all — the good, the bad, and the ugly."
Bhumi grinned. "I'm not afraid of ugly."
"Good," Chhayika said, brushing a few strands of hair from the girl's face. "You'll need that courage."
After breakfast, Chhayika walked Bhumi to the car, watching as her niece skipped along, her small hand gripping the red ribbon in her hair. It was a symbol of something simple, something pure — a love that needed no words. Just the bond between them.
As Bhumi waved goodbye, Chhayika stood for a moment longer, her gaze lingering on the girl's retreating form.
"That's love," she murmured quietly to herself.
Not romance. Not the false promises of a world that never seemed to care.
But this — early mornings, schoolbags, parathas, ribbons.
This was the love she chose.
The door clicked shut behind Bhumi, her laughter echoing faintly down the staircase. Chhayika stood in the silence it left behind, fingers curled loosely around a ceramic mug, the last of the steam curling like incense in the morning air. She stepped out onto the rooftop, barefoot, letting the sun kiss her skin, the wind thread itself through her unpinned hair.
From here, the city looked less cruel. The buildings wore the golden hush of early hours, their sharp edges softened by warmth. Somewhere, a temple bell rang—distant, but grounding. Chhayika closed her eyes and let the sound pass through her.
"Bhumi's eyes always hold too much," she thought, sipping the bitter-sweet tea. Grief, wonder, memory. Things no child should know.
She traced the rim of the mug with her thumb, her mind slipping where she didn't want it to go—into the white corridors of that hospital. Into a time when the mornings were quiet not because of peace, but because of absence..
FLASHBACK
The scene shifts to another time, another place. One that Chhayika allows herself to remember only on the rarest of occasions.
The hospital room is heavy with quiet murmurs and the sharp scent of antiseptic. Bhumi's mother, Ankita, lies unconscious, her fragile body tethered to life by cold, indifferent machines. Her skin is pale, her breath borrowed. The woman who once laughed in full sunshine now floats somewhere unreachable, suspended between hope and despair.
Her father, Major Arvind Singh, is already gone. Fallen in the line of duty. A soldier. A brother in spirit. Chhayika's rakhi brother. The silence he leaves behind echoes too loud.
Bhumi is barely two, far too small to understand why her world has been broken apart. But Chhayika understands. She always has.
She remembers Arvind's voice, steady even in the face of death, entrusting her with what he loved most. Not as a favor. Not as a plea. But as a sacred vow.
She does not hesitate.
When the doctors whisper coma, and the soldiers murmur sacrifice, Chhayika makes her decision.
She lifts Bhumi, not just into her arms, but into a future only she could guard. Bhumi's tiny fingers curl around hers, frightened, trusting. In that moment, something unshakable takes root.
She becomes her protector. Her guide. Her mother in all the ways that matter.
Some promises change you forever.
And when they do, there's no returning, only moving forward, carrying what cannot be left behind.
PRESENT DAY
Back inside the apartment, Chhayika closed the door behind her softly, the weight of the morning still clinging in the air. She had just returned from the rooftop, where she had lingered with her tea, allowing herself a brief moment of quiet before the storm. Bhumi was long gone, her laughter still echoing in Chhayika's mind. After sipping her tea in solitude, Chhayika moved through the apartment with mechanical grace, her mind already shifting gears. There was work to be done, and the mission loomed closer.
She set the empty cup on the kitchen counter and reached for the drawer beneath it. From inside, she pulled out a slim, matte-black tablet—no logos, no fingerprint access. A swipe, a retinal scan. The screen blinked to life, revealing a single notification, one that hadn't been there the night before.
[Encryption Key Verified]
// ACTIVE: SHADOW PROTOCOL//
She stared at the words. The corners of her mouth didn't twitch. Not surprise. Not dread. Just the quiet tightening of her jaw, like a muscle remembering an old wound.
Her thumb hovered for a second longer before she powered it off again. She didn't need more. Not yet. She already knew.
Something had shifted in the world again.
And she would have to shift with it.
Chhayika walked into her bedroom, the weight of inevitability trailing her like a second skin. She stepped into the closet, fingers ghosting over silks and cottons — anchors of the life she'd tried to build. Somewhere in the back, behind the woven saris and the blazer she wore to Bhumi's school orientation, was a shelf she hadn't touched in months.
She reached for it now.
Her hand found the cool leather of the false lining. Slid it aside.
A passport. Worn. Green.
Fatima Qureshi.
The name no longer startled her. Just echoed.
Beside it sat a silver ring—modest, sharp, poison-tipped.
She picked it up slowly, the metal catching a sliver of sunlight as it turned.
"Time to become someone else again," she whispered, a calm she didn't feel threading through her voice.
But then, as always, her thoughts circled back.
To Bhumi. To laughter. To soft red ribbons.
But also to Aariz. To those moments when their eyes had met across a room, something unspoken in the silence between them. She had told herself it was just a past mistake, just the remnants of a mission long over. But something twisted in her chest now, as though she could still feel the weight of his presence, his gaze, the touch of a hand that had once held hers in more than just professional alliance.
She swallowed hard, her mind sharp again.
Was it guilt? Or was it something more?
The confusion made her uneasy. She had no time for it. She couldn't afford it.
"But Bhumi, my love... I'll always come back."
Always.
A small, bitter laugh escaped her lips before she could stifle it. The truth was, she wasn't sure anymore if it was the promise to Bhumi that anchored her—or the ghosts of those she had left behind.
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Author's Note:
In this chapter, we see the fragile balance Chhayika tries to maintain between her personal life and the world she is forced to navigate. The relationship with Bhumi serves as her anchor, but the looming mission, symbolized by the SHADOW PROTOCOL, reminds her that the life she built is always at risk of crumbling. The shift from warmth to tension mirrors the inner conflict that defines Chhayika—torn between love, duty, and the sacrifices she must make to survive in the world of covert operations.
As always, Chhayika's journey is one of transformation, and in this chapter, we witness another layer of her identity taking shape—Fatima Qureshi. This moment signifies a return to a past Chhayika cannot escape, no matter how much she longs for peace.
Thank you for following along, and stay tuned for what comes next in The Eagle: The Shadow of Power.
What do you think Chhayika's next move will be? Share your thoughts and theories in the comments below!