Two pairs of eyes were staring at each other.
In a few more minutes she could win the war.
His eyes were red as he stared into the frozen night.
His trigger sharp reflexes had neutralised every sporadic movement of the enemy.
As the cannons were aligning themselves to start the bombing, all he had to do was to guard the route for nine more minutes without blinking.
But she wished he would blink.
She wished that she would win this time.
And for a moment he did.
But then she realised that it was an illusion.
It was she who had blinked instead, as tears had flooded her red eyes.
She wished if her martyr father’s photograph could come alive someday.
Reciting his last words “Na chhodnu” she wiped her eight year old eyes.