A/N: This story goes out for my most favourite, favourite female officer ever, Tasha. She has captured a place in my heart which no one else has, and no else can.

Happy reading!

:: A Silent Promise ::

Chapter 1

..

City Hospital, 10.30 PM

It was raining heavily that night when senior inspector Abhijeet reached the hospital. Very unusual for the month of November, he thought. The city, otherwise buzzing with continual movement, had gone haywire due to the sudden unexpected downpour. Transport had slowed down, roads loaded with traffic, and people were scurrying around, their drenched bodies desperately trying to get shelter from the rains. Needless to say, grumbling murmurs and chants of plans getting foiled were being heard.

Soaked from head to toe, heart literally pounding against his rib cage, he ran his way to the intensive care unit. Rest of the team members were being informed, and already on their way.

He frantically made a couple of inquiries, learning that the surgery was still in progress and profusely thanking the generous taxi driver who had found the girl lying on the ground in a pool of blood and used his presence of mind to bring her to the hospital immediately. Allowing the cabbie to leave after taking all her belongings from him, Abhijeet had no choice but to wait with bated breath.

He cast a cursory glance around, and the corridor looked empty, except for a couple of nurses and resident medical officers appearing occasionally. The faint odor of the antiseptic spirit made him cringe a bit and the untouched pamphlets mentioning some medical conditions and their precautionary measures suddenly appeared interesting.

Slumping down on the chair nearby, he pondered over the manner his relationship had changed with Tasha over the past few months. From all his colleagues and subordinates, none of the girls were able to strike a connection, ever.

A man of few words, a hardcore workaholic by nature and someone who kept his emotions highly secretive, he seldom believed in indulging in a relationship of any kind besides a professional one. With her, however, it was different altogether. Tasha came, and within a short span, touched his life in a way no one else ever had.

In his entire career, he had worked with people of different temperaments, dealt with ruthless criminals and interrogated suspects with extremely difficult and rigid nature. But at the end, he had always been successful in a way – to make any interaction and call it a day without letting anything affect him emotionally or mentally. He was someone who preferred reaching back home maintaining the same level of austerity that he had embraced many years ago.

But, over the last couple of months when they had started investigating together, when they conversed about things related and sometimes unrelated to the case proceedings, she always spoke something that had kept him thinking for a while. Finding it amusing initially, it had later started impacting him deeply, in a way unbeknownst to him.

Otherwise an extremely patient man with matters crucial or trivial, over the past twelve years as a cop, impatience had seeped into him making him rather apprehensive and difficult to deal with. He wasn't to be blamed, though. The manic work culture, struggling to search for clues and evidences, pressure from the authorities to solve cases within the given deadline, writing and submitting tedious and annoying case reports – everything had, quite literally, taken a toll on his forbearance level.

However, after all the traumatic investigations, spending grueling days and nights; sometimes having to shed bullets in numerous encounters, there was a certain unnamed pleasure he always experienced when he or his team finally lay his hands on the criminals and make them confess their crime. The occasions when he got to have a good night's sleep after successfully closing a case file were extremely rare, and when they did occur, he was a man who wasted no time in taking advantage of it.

In the present moment, sitting on the chair in the hospital, Abhijeet knew he had to wait patiently. In increasing anticipation, fearing the outcome. He tried to push all the unpleasant thoughts out of his head, creasing his eyebrows and settled his forehead between his fingers massaging it gently.

Taking a glance toward the operation theater and then at his wrist watch, he wondered where the rest of his team members were. He quickly made a phone call to one of his colleagues, who, as expected, informed him about being on the way and stuck in heavy traffic due to the rains. He sighed deeply and put the phone back in his pocket.

Distraction was a necessity. He picked the magazine lying beside him and started to scroll through it, uninterested of the content, until one particular article caught his attention. Thanksgiving. The day and its influence on the western culture.

He gave a dry chuckle as a recent memory flashed in front of his eyes.

.

"What is it about thanksgiving?"

He asked her one day when they both were alone in the bureau working on a case file.

That made Tasha rise her head from the laptop, her eyebrows perking up. "Huh?" She almost did a double take, an incredulous expression on her face. Of all the people, she had never expected him to start a conversation on a topic completely unrelated to the workings of their department. Or to initiate any kind of conversation at all. He was not someone talking about casual things. At least with her. Especially with her. Or so, she had thought.

"Any particular reason behind this question in the middle of studying a forensic report?," her tone was weary and curious at the same time.

When he spoke, his voice was surprisingly relaxed. "No, seriously? I read an article yesterday. What is all this hype about celebrating thanksgiving?"

She couldn't help suppressing a smirk. "What has gotten into you, sir? And why is 'thanksgiving' suddenly bothering you so much?" She made imaginary quote marks in the air to emphasize the word.

"What I mean is, do we really need to thank all our loved ones, that too, on one particular day? Shouldn't some gestures, some emotions be better left unexpressed?"

She shook her head vehemently, her ponytail swinging from side to side. "On the contrary, I believe we should practice thanksgiving every single day. It is really important to thank our loved ones, for the little things they do for us. Like they say – Credit should be given where it is due!"

"What makes you feel that? And won't you find it annoying when someone keeps thanking you hundred times in a day? I for one, would definitely mind that."

"To each his own, sir. There is a simple logic behind it. I believe appreciation is extremely important, even for the slightest of things someone does for you. Because that person has invested his or her time, effort and energy behind doing that thing, no matter how trivial it may be. Sir, we earn medals of bravery, get felicitated for the mere reason why civilians are able to sleep peacefully at night because of us. And that feels incredible, to know that our efforts have been worth someone's peace, someone's happiness."

He rested his chin on his palm, listening eagerly as she continued.

"Similarly, I feel we should thank all those people, appreciate those who help us in any which way. It helps, sir. Appreciation really motivates a person, and not to mention, helps them build a kind of rapport with you. And hence, I believe thanksgiving needs to be followed on a daily basis, for thanking our colleagues for being there for us, for thanking our subordinates for offering to cover us during an encounter – even for the mere thought that they can come in the way and take a bullet to their chest but not letting anything happen to you, for thanking our mothers for waiting for us to arrive home every single night, hungry and tired."

She finished with a deep breath. All he could do was give her a warm smile.

"You've made me wonder now, I have never thanked people enough, for all those times they were there for me, for every single time they saved my life."

She leaned forward on her chair, looking at him smugly. "That reminds me – last month, Freddy sir stayed up at your bedside the entire night in the hospital when you were recovering from a severe wound. I believe that's a really big thing to do for someone. Did you thank him for that?"

He gave a soft laugh. "You know what? After we're done studying the file, I'm going to go to the store and buy a 'Thank you' card for him."

"That sounds more like it," she smirked and they shared a hearty laugh before resuming their work.

.

He closed his eyes as the supposedly light memory now made his heart pinch.

The light outside the theater went off and he brushed off the tears, scrambling up on his feet as the surgeon appeared.

"How is Tasha, doctor? Is everything fine?" He asked, his entire body shaking and his voice wary.

The doctor's eyes went downcast, he released an audible sigh, the grim look pasted on his face. "The accident has proved nearly fatal for her, inspector. There has been a slight damage to the brain, and she has also lost a considerable amount of blood. But we have performed the surgery and it's successful. Rest all depends on when she regains consciousness."

The words came as a breath of relief for him, albeit momentarily. "How much time will it take, doctor, for her to wake up?"

"I cannot really say, inspector. The injury has been severe. It might take a few hours, few days or even weeks. All I can tell you is to keep faith."

His brain, finding it hard to digest what he had been just told, he held the wall to support himself from fainting. Fresh tears formed in his eyes, threatening to spill any instant. The doctor's hand over his shoulder brought him back to his senses.

"Don't lose hope, officer. Everything will be fine. Have trust in the Almighty. And if you need me at any time, please don't hesitate." Lending the assurance, the surgeon walked away.

Abhijeet threw himself back on the chair, heaving a sigh. Somewhere amidst all that she was suffering, his heart told him Tasha would wake up. She had always been a fighter, highly opinionated and standing firm on her opinions. She was not someone who would lose a battle so easily, he knew. He knew her. And he knew her spirit of never giving up on things.

As he still waited for his team to arrive, his mind was again drifted back to some more of her memories, the times when she had proved to him she was a person who, along with caring for others, strongly valued her own self, her own views. A girl with utterly progressive thoughts and always unapologetic for following the rightful things.

"Abhijeet?"

His chain of thoughts was broken by a familiar voice calling his name.

"Criticism, like rain, should be gentle enough to nourish a man's growth without destroying his roots." – Frank A. Clark

Please understand the difference between healthy criticism and ignorantly enforcing your choices on others; and then comment on any story. Thank you!

Note: It would be selfish of me if I say this story is not being inspired by some of my previous fellow writers. I'd dedicate this story to one of my most favourite writers ever, Metallic Mist.