C6 The Problem With Traveling With a Soldier

Morning sunlight spilled through the thin hotel curtains.

I woke up slowly, staring at the ceiling.

For a moment everything felt normal.

Then I remembered last night.

The strange men.

The street.

Arjun.

The soldier who kept appearing in my story like a character who refused to stay on the sidelines.

I sat up and grabbed my notebook from the bedside table.

Last night’s entry stared back at me.

A soldier who appeared in the middle of danger.

I sighed.

“Great,” I muttered.

“My love story research trip is now supervised by the army.”

I got dressed and went downstairs to the hotel café.

And guess who was already there.

Arjun.

Of course.

Sitting at a corner table like he had been there for hours.

Black coffee in front of him.

Watching the entrance like a guard.

“You're stalking me,” I said as I sat down.

“No.”

“You appeared again.”

“Yes.”

“That’s suspicious.”

“That’s coincidence.”

I stole his coffee and took a sip.

He watched me do it without reacting.

“You know,” I said, “most normal people say good morning.”

“Good morning.”

“You’re late.”

He ignored that.

“We need to talk.”

“That sounds serious.”

“It is.”

His expression turned calm but firm.

“Those men last night were not random.”

I nodded slowly.

“I assumed that.”

“They work for people who are looking for me.”

“And now they’ve seen me with you.”

“Yes.”

I stared at him.

“So basically…”

“Yes.”

“I’m now part of your problems.”

“Yes.”

I leaned back in my chair.

“This is the worst travel review I’ve ever had.”

He almost smiled again.

Almost.

“You should leave the city today,” he said.

“I already told you,” I replied. “I’m not ending my trip early.”

“You might not have a choice.”

“I do.”

He studied me carefully.

“Why is this trip so important?”

I tapped my notebook.

“I’m collecting love stories.”

He looked at it.

Then at me.

“You’re risking your safety for strangers’ romance?”

“Yes.”

“That makes no logical sense.”

“Love rarely does.”

Silence sat between us for a moment.

Then he sighed quietly.

Something about that sigh felt like defeat.

“Fine,” he said.

“What?”

“If you won’t stop traveling…”

“Yes?”

“I’ll come with you.”

I blinked.

“You’re volunteering to be my travel partner?”

“No.”

“You just said you would come with me.”

“I said I’ll make sure you stay safe.”

“That’s the same thing.”

“It isn’t.”

I grinned.

“This is the best travel upgrade ever.”

Two hours later we were on a bus leaving the city.

Destination: a small hill village famous for old love legends.

I sat by the window excitedly.

Arjun sat beside me looking like a man who had accidentally joined a school trip.

“You look miserable,” I said.

“I prefer silence.”

“You’re traveling with an ENFP.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means silence is illegal.”

He didn’t reply.

So I kept talking.

About the village.

About the stories I wanted to collect.

About how I once interviewed an old couple who had eloped in the 1970s.

About how love stories were everywhere if you just looked carefully enough.

Eventually he said something unexpected.

“You really believe in love that much?”

I looked at him.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because even broken people still look for it.”

He looked out the window after that.

Very quiet.

Like that sentence had touched something he didn’t want to think about.

We reached the village by evening.

Small houses.

Mountain air.

Wood smoke rising from chimneys.

It looked like a painting.

An old woman greeted us near the entrance road.

“Are you two travelers?”

“Yes!” I said happily.

“We’re looking for a place to stay.”

She smiled warmly.

“Oh that’s easy.”

Then she looked at both of us.

And laughed.

“Young couples always come here.”

I froze.

“We’re not—”

Arjun interrupted.

“How much for one room?”

I turned slowly toward him.

“One room?” I whispered.

“It’s safer.”

“For who?”

“For both of us.”

The old woman nodded approvingly.

“Very good husband. Very protective.”

I choked.

Arjun looked completely calm.

“Your wife talks a lot,” she continued kindly.

“Yes,” he said.

“She does.”

I stared at him in shock.

“You just agreed that I’m your wife.”

“It was convenient.”

“You're unbelievable.”

“You're loud.”

Later that night we walked through the quiet village streets.

Fireflies floated in the dark fields.

The sky was full of stars.

“This place is beautiful,” I said softly.

“Yes.”

“See? Traveling with me isn’t so bad.”

He looked at me.

“You talk too much.”

“But?”

“But…”

For a moment he hesitated.

Then he said quietly,

“You notice things other people ignore.”

My stomach did a strange little flip.

I quickly looked away.

I opened my notebook again.

And wrote something new.

Story Entry

Sometimes the beginning of a love story looks very ordinary.

Two travelers arriving in a quiet village.

An old woman assuming they’re married.

One room.

One night.

And a sky full of stars above them.

Maybe love doesn’t begin with fireworks.

Maybe it begins with strangers pretending to be something they’re not…

until one day they realize they don’t want to pretend anymore.

When I finished writing, I glanced up.

Arjun was watching the stars silently.

A quiet soldier.

Standing in the middle of a peaceful village.

Like a man who didn’t belong in gentle places like this.

And somehow…

I had a feeling this journey was going to change both of us.

End of Chapter