They climbed over the broken wall and slipped into the library's back garden. The scent of old books welcomed them like an old friend. Inside, they took their usual spot by the dusty window, sunlight slanting over faded pages.

"Aaj  kya padhaoge?"

 "Pronunciation practice. You say 'three', not 'tree'."

"Uff!" she groaned. "Phir se wahi atyachaar?"

Arthur pulled out "The Secret Garden."

Noor wrinkled her nose. "Ye toh bacchon ki kahani lagti hai."

He smirked. "Exactly, tum bacchi ho."

Her eyes narrowed. "Tum toh buddhe ho gaye ho, Veer. tumhari ye khadoos shakal ke saath"

He laughed — a full, unguarded laugh that echoed in the quiet library.

They read for a while, Noor stumbling through words, Arthur patiently correcting her.

Then, just before dusk, he paused.

"Noor," he said, "tumne kabhi socha hai ki agar kisi ko pata chala ki hum es tarah se milte h toh kya hoga?"

She blinked. "Tumhe darr lagta hai?"

"thoda" he replied with hesistation

"maine tumhe veer ka naam diya h, es arah daro mat mai kahi nhi jaa rhi, humari dosti koi bhi nhi tod sakta"

There was a beat of silence. Then Noor asked, softly, "Tum hamesha rahoge na? Aise hi?"

Veer turned his head to look at her. "Rahunga."

"Sachhi?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

He nodded with a gentle smile. "Haan."

She narrowed her eyes, grinning. "Offoo, haan mat bolo! Bolo 'muchhi'. Tab manungi."

Aruthur looked surprised and then asked, "mu-muchi kya hota h?

"ye toh mujhe bhi nhi pata par ese hi bolte hai"

He burst out laughing and raised his hand like a solemn oath. "Muchhi."

Noor giggled, a laugh that echoed like wind chimes in the garden. She extended her little finger. "sachi?"

He hooked his pinky finger with hers. "mucchi."

***

Outside, the winds of change were picking up. Posters were being torn down. Pamphlets were being passed hand to hand — "Quit India" whispered before it even became a slogan. Men in dhotis stood on corners, shouting about taxes, rights, the war, and the cruelty of British conscription.

In early 1916, news had spread: the Home Rule League had been launched. Bal Gangadhar Tilak. Annie Besant. Words like Swaraj were being spoken in hushed tones — and in louder ones too, in places like Bombay, Madras, and now... slowly, even Amritsar.

A group of young men gathered outside the Town Hall, shouting:

"Videshi hukumat murdabad!"

"Tilak zindabad! Swaraj hamara janmsiddh adhikar hai!"

Noor's father came home that day, voice low and serious.

"Parvati," he said to Noor's mother, "British log ab naam likhne lage hain. Jo bhi awaaz uthata hai... uski list ban rahi hai. Humein ab bahut sambhalke chalna hoga."

Noor, sitting quietly in the corner with her embroidery work, paused, her needle hovering above the fabric. She didn't say anything, but her ears were sharp.

Parvati wiped her hands on the end of her saree, concern shadowing her features.

" Suniye, aapka naam bhi hai us list mein?" she asked softly.

He didn't answer. He simply looked at Noor for a long, unreadable moment—his eyes a storm of pride, love, and unspoken fear.

Noor sat on the floor by the charpai, her embroidery hoop resting forgotten in her lap. Her fingers had stopped moving long ago, but she still stared at the half-stitched lotus like it could somehow explain what she had just overheard.

Her mother, Parvati, walked in, holding a wooden comb in one hand and a bowl of coconut oil in the other. She didn't say anything at first, just sat behind Noor and gently gathered her thick, dark hair in her lap.

"Baalo mein kitne guthiyan ban gayi hain, Noor," she said softly, dipping her fingers into the warm oil. "Dimag ki tarah."

Noor didn't respond. She just blinked slowly, the needle still clenched between her fingers.

Parvati parted her hair carefully, the scent of jasmine oil floating into the room like a whisper from a safer time. The strokes of the comb were slow, rhythmic — as if trying to calm more than just tangled strands.

"Ma..." Noor finally said, her voice small. "Baba... kya sach mein kuch keh aaye hain angrezon ke khilaaf?"

Her mother paused, her fingers resting lightly against Noor's scalp.

"Kabhi kabhi... chup rehna bhi khilaf hi samjha jaata hai," Parvati replied, her voice a gentle hush. "Aur tumhare baba... kabhi chup reh nahi paate."

Noor turned slightly, trying to catch her mother's expression. "Phir kya hoga?"

Parvati smiled faintly, brushing a stray curl from Noor's cheek. "Hoga wahi jo likha hai. Par tum... tum hamesha apna man saaf rakhna, aur apne logon ke saath khadi rehna."

Noor looked down at her lap. "Main darr gayi hoon, Ma."

Parvati placed the comb down and gently tilted Noor's chin up.

"Tumhe humesha dhyan dena hai, tumhare aspas jo bhi chal raha hai uska " she said, her voice steady now — the kind that could carry storms and still make you feel safe. "Par kabhi bhi darna nhi hai, Jo sach hai, usse chhupne ki zarurat nahi hoti."

Then, as if to chase the fear away, she leaned closer and whispered with a smile, "Aur waise bhi, tum toh apne Baba ki sabse ziddi beti ho na? Tumse darr jaane ki umeed kaun kare?"

Noor smiled, leaning into her mother's lap. For that one moment, wrapped in the scent of oil and old stories, she felt safe. Like the world hadn't yet turned cruel. Like revolution and rifles were just words grown-ups whispered.

***

At the British cantonment, Arthur stood stiffly in his father's office, the air heavy with tension. Colonel Edward Brown stood behind his desk, his tall frame casting a shadow over the room, his eyes hard and calculating.

"You've been skipping your lessons again," Edward's voice was calm but edged with irritation.

Arthur shifted uncomfortably. "I was reading," he mumbled, avoiding his father's gaze.

"With whom?" Edward's tone sharpened slightly, a challenge in his words.

Arthur hesitated, "By myself," he replied quietly.

Edward's eyes narrowed, suspicion clouding his gaze. "Don't lie, Arthur."

"I'm not," Arthur said, his voice a little steadier this time, though he could feel the heat of his father's stare.

Edward leaned forward, his voice cold, cutting through the stillness of the room. "I saw you. With one of them. Again."

Arthur froze. His father's words hit him like a blow. He knew exactly what he meant.

Edward's voice turned more venomous. "Do you understand what you're doing? Associating with the locals? Mixing with them? Arthur, you're not like them. You're a Brown. You have a legacy — an empire to uphold."

Edward's eyes darkened. "They nothing more than a subject of the Crown. A commoner. And you are the son of a Colonel — a man who serves His Majesty. You don't belong to their world, Arthur. Your future is much grander than playing pretend with the very people who are beneath us."

"Do you understand?" he asked in a firm tone and Arthur nodded in response, his eyes glistening with unshed tears 

***

At their usual spot in the library garden, Noor and Veer sat in silence.

She suddenly said, "Papa says the British dar gye hai."

"Of what?"

"Humari awaz."

Arthur looked away, something heavy in his eyes.

Noor leaned in. "Waise... tumhare papa se darr nahi lagta tumhe?"

He looked at her with a strange smile. "Har waqt."

She blinked. "Phir bhi milte ho mujhse?"

He nodded. "Tumse na milun toh... sab kuch bekaar lagta hai."

Noor blushed slightly. "Phir se jhooth?"

He placed a hand on his heart dramatically. "Muchhi!"

She giggled, lightly punching his arm.

The moment was light — like paper boats before a storm.

They didn't know it yet, but that year, that protest, that friendship — they were all stepping stones to something bigger.

To history.

____________________________________________________________

Hope you all liked chapter 5 of bullets between us

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