Chapter 1: The First Evaluation

The Goa sun was a liar. From the car window, it looked golden and calm, a postcard sky over swaying palms. But the moment Tara stepped out, the heat hit like punishment : sharp, sticky, impossible to ignore. The smell of salt and damp grass clung to her clothes before she even crossed the gates of the National Training Centre

She’d imagined this day for years. The first day on a professional field, her ID swinging from her neck with the words *Physiotherapist – National Team* printed beneath her name. She should’ve felt pride. Instead, she felt watched.

A whistle blew somewhere across the field, followed by the thud of a football meeting boot and the roar of laughter. She turned her head instinctively. the team was already mid-practice, a blur of blue jerseys, sprint drills, and voices that carried through the air like electricity.

Her father stood near the benches, arms crossed, face unreadable. Even from this distance, she could see the stiffness in his posture, the tight line of his mouth. Coach Mehra was respected, feared even, but to her, he’d always been more rule than father.

He saw her. For a moment, his expression faltered ,not warmth, not pride, just recognition before it settled back into command.

“Tara,” he said when she reached him. No smile. No welcome. “You’re late.”

She checked her watch. “It’s 7:45, sir. Reporting time was eight.”

“Then you’re early,” he replied, already turning away. “Don’t confuse that with being prepared.”

The words stung more than they should have. She’d grown up on his brand of affection — blunt correction, never comfort. But it still sank into her chest like ice.

Arjun’s voice broke the tension. “Ignore him. He hasn’t smiled since ’09.”

Her brother’s grin was disarming, the same easy charm that made him a fan favorite on the field. He pulled her into a half-hug, smelling faintly of sweat and turf.

“You sure about this?” he murmured. “Working under him?”

“I’ve handled worse.”

“Name one.”

She gave him a look. “You.”

He laughed. That familiar, loud sound that turned heads. “Touché. Just be careful, okay? Don’t get too close to the players. They’re a pack of bored idiots half the time.”

Tara rolled her eyes. “Thanks for the faith.”

“I mean it. Especially Rey.”

She paused. “Rey Malhotra?”

Arjun nodded. “Captain. Genius. Complete nightmare. He’s got that look, you know? The kind that convinces everyone he’s right, even when he’s wrong. Stay clear.”

She smirked. “I’m not here to be charmed, Arjun.”

“Good. Because he’s allergic to rules, and Dad worships them. You’ll hate each other in five minutes.”

It was meant as a joke, but something about the way he said it lingered. She pushed the thought aside and glanced toward the field. The players were moving through a set-piece drill, sweat glinting under the morning sun. Every pass was sharp, efficient .a team molded by fear and discipline.

She belonged here. She had earned this. And she’d be damned if anyone — father, brother, or captain — made her forget that.

The physio room smelled like antiseptic and turf tape. Neat stacks of bandages lined the wall shelves, along with heat packs, resistance bands, and a single worn-out chair in the corner ;her new kingdom.

She set down her bag and pulled out her equipment list, ticking through each item. Every movement was precise, mechanical. It was the only way she knew to drown out the weight pressing behind her ribs.

“Tara.”

Her father’s voice again. She straightened instinctively.

“The players’ assessments start in ten. You’ll begin with Malhotra. Shoulder strain from the last league game. He’s due for a full evaluation before clearance.”

“Understood.”

“Remember your boundaries. You’re staff, not family here.”

She swallowed the impulse to say something sharp. “Yes, sir.”

He left without another word. The door clicked behind him, and the silence he left behind was almost cruel.

Tara exhaled, tying her hair into a low knot. Her reflection in the metal cabinet looked older than twenty-five. She traced the ID badge once, grounding herself, then reached for her clipboard.

When the door opened again, she didn’t look up immediately.

“Mr. Malhotra?”

A deep voice answered, rough around the edges. “Captain works fine.”

She lifted her head — and understood, instantly, why Arjun had warned her.

Rey Malhotra didn’t walk into a room; he took it over. Tall, athletic, sun-browned skin, a faint scar cutting through his eyebrow like punctuation. His expression carried the kind of confidence that came from years of being obeyed.

“Sit,” she said evenly, gesturing to the treatment table.

He smirked. “Straight to business, huh? No introductions?”

“I’m not here to socialize. Take off your jersey, please.”

He hesitated a second, then pulled the fabric over his head. The movement was casual, almost lazy, but her breath caught anyway. Every physiotherapy textbook she’d ever read hadn’t prepared her for this.

“Where exactly’s the pain?” she asked, voice professional again.

“Right shoulder. Been nagging since the final.”

She nodded, stepping closer. “Range of motion first. Raise your arm to ninety degrees.”

He obeyed, watching her more than the movement. “You’re new.”

“Yes.”

“You don’t look nervous.”

“I’m not.”

“Everyone’s nervous on their first day.”

She met his gaze. sharp, unflinching. “Then maybe they’re not as prepared as I am.”

Something flickered in his eyes, amusement mixed with something else. “You always talk like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re daring someone to argue.”

“Only when they deserve it.”

He laughed softly.Tara moved around him, pressing gently along the deltoid. “Any pain here?”

“Not unless you press harder.”

“Don’t tempt me.”

For a heartbeat, silence. Just the hum of the ceiling fan and the soft drag of her fingers along muscle. His skin was warm, and she could feel the tension beneath. not just physical, but something more charged.

“You’ve got mild inflammation,” she said finally, stepping back. “You’ll need targeted mobility and rest.”

“Rest isn’t an option.”

“It’s not a request.”

He tilted his head, studying her. “You sound like your father.”

Her hand stiffened. “You know him well?”

“Well enough to know he doesn’t like distractions.”

“Then don’t be one.”

That earned her another faint smile.not mocking this time, but curious. “Noted, doc.”

He slid off the table, pulling his jersey back on in one smooth motion. Before she could hand him the exercise plan, he spoke again.

“You’ll be around every day?”

“Yes.”

“Good. My schedule’s unpredictable, but I’ll make time.”

She arched a brow. “For rehab?”

“For whatever you tell me to do.”

The words weren’t flirtation exactly — too even, too unreadable — but they left something hanging in the space between them.

She handed him the clipboard. “Sign here after reading the plan. Three sessions a week minimum. If you skip one, I’ll report it.”

He took the pen, still watching her. “You really don’t flinch, do you?”

“Should I?”

“Most people do when they talk to me.”

“I’m not most of the people, Captain.”

The corner of his mouth lifted. “We’ll see.”

He left a minute later, and the silence that followed was thick enough to touch. Tara leaned against the counter, exhaling slowly. Her pulse was still racing — not from intimidation, but from something she didn’t have a name for.

Her father’s voice was replayed in her head. "Remember your boundaries."

She smiled without humor.

Boundaries were easy.

Until someone like Rey Malhotra decided to test them.

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