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Vihaan smiled, a rare, tired curve of his lips. "It was never about the money, Ary."

He turned to face the flag, whipping wetly at half-mast for no one in particular.

"They never told you what happened. We were pinned down for nineteen days. No supplies. Temperature minus thirty. Three of my men lost fingers to frostbite." Vihaan pointed to a boy in the front row—no older than twenty-two, with a gap-toothed grin. "That's Naik Tapan Das. He took a sniper's bullet meant for me on day fourteen." Salute -2022- www.7StarHD.Org Hindi ORG Dual Au...

His younger brother, Aryan, sat across the table, swirling a glass of water. Aryan wasn't in the army. He was a film editor in Mumbai, home for the first time in three years. The gap between them felt wider than the Thar Desert.

The mess doors opened. The Adjutant, a young captain with nervous eyes, stepped in. "Sir, the Guard of Honor is formed." Vihaan smiled, a rare, tired curve of his lips

"It's not a performance," Vihaan replied, his voice softening. "It's a promise."

"You don't have to do this," Aryan said quietly. "The private security offer from Dubai is triple your pension." We were pinned down for nineteen days

And for the first time in twelve years, he allowed himself to cry.

He held it for a long, long second.

Behind him, Aryan—the brother who had never understood the call of the boot and the bugle—slowly, awkwardly, raised his own hand. It wasn't regulation. It wasn't perfect. But it was real.