She Walked Like a Storm.
Sub-Inspector Neha Rathore, 36 years old. Feared, admired, impossible to ignore.
Height: 5’9”
Weight: 88 kg of sheer muscle.
Posting: Crime Branch, Delhi
Known For: Tackling chain snatchers with one hand and lifting drunkards like sacks of flour.
She didn’t walk — she marched, boots pounding, her ponytail swinging like a metronome of justice.
Then there was her new junior partner.
Constable Aditya Sharma
Aditya, 40, had recently transferred from Traffic to Crime.
He was 5’3”, 62 kg, quiet, nerdy, and always double-checking files.
On day one, he mistook Neha for a gym instructor.
She sized him up with one look.
“Lightweight,” she smirked.
“Huh?”
“I’ll explain later,” she grinned.
He had no idea how literal she was being.
The First Lift – The Fire Escape Incident.
They were chasing a thief through a crumbling chawl.
Aditya tripped.
Neha didn’t stop. She spun around, scooped him up in a fireman carry, and bolted up the stairs with him slung across her shoulders.
He flailed. “Officer! I’m okay! Put me—”
“Don’t argue during cardio,” she huffed.
Later he muttered, “You could’ve just pulled me up…”
She just winked, “But I like carrying you.”
“Ma’am, This is Not Protocol!”
During a dangerous raid, a table flipped and trapped Aditya underneath.
Before he could free himself, Neha flipped the table and bridal-lifted him across the room, gun drawn in her other hand.
“Ma’am! I can run!”
“You say that, but I’ve got faster legs,” she replied, not even winded.
From then on, the team joked he was “the inspector’s plus-one… carried at all events.”
He blushed. She didn’t deny it.
The Festival Surprise.
During Holi duty, Aditya was assigned to traffic. Neha found him covered in colors, trying to control a drunk crowd.
He barely noticed her sneaking up from behind.
Suddenly — he was lifted clear off the ground, upside down in a shoulder carry.
“Ma’am!” he squealed.
“Public disturbance! You’re the first arrest of the day!”
People around clapped and laughed.
He was mortified. She laughed and tossed him into a water tank.
One Rainy Night, One Close Call.
They were tailing a suspect in the rain when a sudden scooter skidded and crashed into Aditya.
He hit the ground with a cry.
Neha ran to him, panicking in her chest.
Without hesitation, she picked him up in her arms, bridal style, soaked to the bone, her heart pounding.
“Is anything broken?” she asked, eyes wide.
He looked up at her, trembling — not from pain, but from how safe he felt.
“Only my fear,” he whispered.
The Proposal (Sort Of)
One lazy afternoon at the station, Aditya was typing reports.
Neha walked in, casually lifted him from his chair, and sat down — with him still in her lap.
He blinked. “What are you—”
“You know,” she said seriously, “you’re the only guy who doesn’t run away when I lift him.”
He smiled nervously. “Maybe I like it.”
She raised an eyebrow. “So… want to make it official?”
“What?”
“You. Me. Partners in everything. I’ll carry the paperwork and you.”
He nodded slowly.
Then quickly.
The Kidnap Twist
Aditya had chased the gang through the alleyways of Shahdara, his small frame darting behind crates and tin-sheet walls. But in the chaos, he got separated from Neha.
That’s when she appeared.
She wasn’t what he expected — not a burly man or scar-faced thug. Instead, a tall, lean woman in her early 20s, with wild hair tied back, muscles wiry like a street athlete. She was 5’9”, maybe 75 kilos, wearing worn jeans and a faded hoodie.
Before he could call for backup — she lunged, ducked under his arm, and hoisted him across her shoulder.
“Wha— HEY!” Aditya cried, flailing uselessly.
She didn’t speak. She just ran, her long legs powering through the maze of lanes with the policeman over her shoulder like a stolen bundle.
The Room with No View.
By the time Aditya could form coherent thoughts, he was tossed onto a jute cot in a dim one-room hut.
No windows. Tin roof. One flickering bulb.
She tied his wrists — surprisingly gently — with strips of a dupatta.
“You’re making a mistake,” he said, trying to sound brave.
She finally spoke, her voice raspy but calm. “Not my first mistake. You’re just the first one I’m keeping.”
He blinked. “Keeping? What do you mean ? You are just a girl. How can you kidnap a full grown adult man and keep him captive, that to a policeman.”
She smiled, sat cross-legged on the floor, and began sharpening a knife.
“Relax. I don’t kill. I just… wait till the heat dies down.”
The Power Struggle.
Hours passed. Aditya observed her. She was silent, focused, not nervous at all. Every time he tried to loosen his binds, she noticed.
“You squirm like a frightened kitten,” she said, laughing, taunting him.
“I’m a police officer and almost double your age!”
She raised an eyebrow. “Right now, you’re a small package. And I don’t open packages until it’s safe.”
She walked over, towering over him.
“You weigh less than I expected.”
He frowned. “That’s not how you treat a hostage.”
“Relax. I don’t hurt people. But if you try anything... I’ll carry you upside down and hang you from the water pipe outside.”
He went quiet.
But inside… his heart beat a little faster.
Shift in Balance.
She didn’t chain him. Just tied him to the cot.
She offered him a roti. “You need to eat.”
He refused. So she picked up the roti, tore a piece, and fed him herself, forcefully.
He hesitated. Then gave in.
He had to admit… she was strong, but not cruel. Smart, but not cold. He couldn’t stop watching her.
And she… kept stealing glances too.
“What's your name?” he asked.
She paused. “Rubi.”
“And you?”
“You already know.”
“Right,” she smirked. “Aditya Sharma. Constable. 5’3”. Desk job background. Partner is the She-Hulk of Delhi Police.”
“…How do you know all this?”
She tapped her temple. “I do my homework.”
Neha Closes In.
Meanwhile, Neha had traced Aditya’s last location using CCTV footage.
“This girl picked your policeman up on her shoulder like a bag of rice,” said a panipuri vendor.
“She ran like a gazelle!” said another.
Neha clenched her jaw. “No one carries my partner except me.”
She and the team closed in.
But inside the hut, something was changing.
Rubi sat closer. “You’re not scared of me anymore.”
“I should be,” he replied. “But… you’ve carried me, fed me, stared at me.”
She smiled. “You talk too much.”
Then leaned down.
“Should I gag you, or kiss you?”
Before he could answer—
BOOM!
The door burst open.
The Face-Off.
Neha stormed in, pistol aimed. Behind her, two constables.
“Hands up, Rubi !” she barked.
But Rubi stood calmly, hands raised.
Aditya blushed. “It’s… not what it looks like.”
Neha looked at him — still tied up — and raised a single eyebrow.
“Really?”
Aditya tried to explain. “She didn’t hurt me.”
Neha stepped forward, gun lowered. “Are you alright?”
He nodded.
Then—without warning—Neha swept him up into a bridal carry.
“Hey—!” he yelped.
“I told you,” she said, glaring at Rubi, “he’s mine to carry.”
Rubi smirked. “He’s lucky. Two strong women fighting over who gets to lift him.”
Aditya sighed. “My back’s fine. My pride is what’s sore.”
Back at the Station.
Rubi was arrested — but her charges were minor. She was recruited later as an informant.
Aditya was never quite the same.
He sat at his desk, sipping chai, watching Neha fill out her logbook.
“You okay?” she asked.
“Yeah. Just wondering how I always end up in women’s arms.”
Neha shrugged. “Better than falling on your face.”
He smiled. “True.”
She added, without looking up, “Also, next time, if a girl tries to kidnap you… yell louder.”
He chuckled. “If it happens again, I might not resist.”
She smirked. “You better. Or I’ll tie you up.”
The Return of Rubi – And Trouble for Constable Aditya!
A Surprise Entry
Three months had passed since the “kidnapping” incident. Constable Aditya Sharma was back at work — mostly healed in body, but his ego still limped a little.
Until the day Rubi walked back into the Crime Branch headquarters — in uniform.
Aditya nearly dropped his tea.
“You?!”
She winked. “Official now. Neha ma’am recommended me as an undercover informant. Special recruit.”
Neha walked by casually. “She’s stronger than most of the rookies. And she already knows how to carry you.”
Aditya groaned into his palms.
Double Trouble on Duty.
Assigned to the same operation, the trio headed into a factory raid. Midway, Aditya sprained his ankle.
Neha rolled her eyes. “Seriously?”
Before she could react, Rubi picked him up in a classic cradle carry and smirked. “Old times.”
Aditya flushed red. “I can limp!”
Neha took over. “You had your turn. Now give him to me.”
She reached out, and like passing a parcel, Rubi handed Aditya over into Neha’s arms — while the criminal gang looked completely confused.
“I’m not a relay baton!” he muttered as bullets flew overhead.
“Shh,” Neha said. “You’re safest in my arms.”
Lift-Off at the Station.
After the raid, word spread fast. Two women — one a cop, one a former gangster — were taking turns literally lifting their male partner into every operation.
The peon whispered, “He must be very light.”
The tea guy replied, “Or very lucky.”
Aditya walked into the station next day with a fake limp just to avoid being carried again.
Didn’t work.
Rubi spun him in a sudden shoulder lift in the canteen line and said, “Come on, tiny. I’ll take you to your chair.”
“Why do both of you do this?” he sighed.
Neha chimed in, sipping chai, “Because it’s easy.”
The Diwali Party Disaster.
The station held a Diwali celebration. Constables dressed up. Diyas were lit. Sweets were everywhere.
Aditya wore a nice kurta, trying to blend in and stay far from Rubi or Neha.
Too late.
Neha grabbed him for a dance.
He resisted. “People are watching.”
“So what?”
Then Rubi joined in. “I want a turn.”
Both women reached at the same time.
He was suddenly off the ground — one woman holding his legs, the other his arms — as everyone burst into laughter.
“He’s lighter than the ladoos!” someone shouted.
Late Night Real Talk.
That night, the three sat on the station terrace. Stars above, sirens distant.
Aditya broke the silence. “Do either of you realize how ridiculous this all is?”
Rubi leaned back. “Maybe. But it’s fun.”
Neha added, “And you’ve never been safer.”
He looked at both of them.
“I feel like… a puppy carried around by two lionesses.”
Rubi chuckled. “Cute. But we don’t carry puppies.”
Neha smirked. “We carry partners.”
There was silence. Then Rubi got up — walked over — and lifted Aditya again in a reverse piggyback.
“You’re getting comfy here, Sharma.”
“I give up,” he muttered as Neha laughed and took a photo.
The Poster Incident.
Weeks later, a Delhi Police motivational poster appeared:
“Strength Comes in Many Forms.”
Below it: a photo of Neha carrying Aditya with a stern face, and Rubi walking beside them laughing.
Aditya groaned. “Great. Now I’m part of the branding.”
Neha smiled. “You're our lucky charm.”
Rubi added, “And our favorite weight class.”
Aditya buried his head in his hands.
But secretly?
He never felt more seen. Or more protected.
Or more carried away.
“Mr. Rubi & His Shy Wife”...
(An Undercover Mission Where Strength Isn’t What It Seems).
The Assignment.
“Drug ring. Operating in a residential colony in Old Delhi. Very tight-knit. No outsiders. No uniforms.”
Neha slapped the file on the table.
“Rubi. Aditya. You’re going undercover. As… a married couple.”
Aditya’s mouth dropped. “WHAT.”
Rubi raised an eyebrow. “Who’s the husband?”
Neha smirked. “Well, let’s see. You’re 5’9”, 75 kg. He’s 5’3”, 63 kg.”
Aditya blinked. “So…what do I wear as plain clothes —?”
Neha handed him a black burqa and a silver anklet.
“Congratulations, Mrs. Sharma.”
Rubi grinned. “This is going to be fun.”
Moving In – Undercover and Under the Burqa.
They arrived in the narrow gali of Chandni Chowk Colony as “Rashid and Fathima Khan.”
Rubi wore a masculine kurta-pajama, fake beard, and dark glasses.
Aditya, wrapped in layers of burqa with a dupatta covering most of his face, shuffled silently beside her.
A nosy neighbor peeked from her rooftop. “New couple?”
“Yes,” Rubi called in a gruff voice. “She’s very shy. Doesn’t speak to men.”
To complete the act, she bent low and scooped “Fathima” up into her arms, bridal-style, and carried him up the stairs of the rented flat.
Aunty ji below cooed, “Aww, such a loving husband!”
Aditya was dying inside.
Adjusting Roles… and Anklets.
Inside the flat, Aditya finally threw off the burqa.
“I can't breathe in this thing!”
Rubi casually sat down, flexing her arms. “You were trembling when I carried you.”
He scowled. “You could’ve just let me walk. I'm a 40 year old adult man and you are just a girl carrying me like I'm your little wife in front of all the neighborhood women.”
“And miss that auntie’s approval? Never.”
Aditya fumbled with his fake anklet. “This jingles!”
Rubi grinned. “So I know when you're walking away without permission.”
He tried to glare. It didn't work.
She just got up, lifted him in a baby carry, and said, “Stay put, Mrs. Khan.”
Street Scenes and Swoons.
The couple made daily rounds—buying milk, vegetables, and watching the neighborhood.
But it was Rubi doing the walking.
Aditya was almost always carried — either piggyback, side-hug carry, or bridal-style in the middle of Chandni Chowk.
“Arrey Wah!” one uncle cheered. “Look at this modern love!”
Aditya would just lower his head under the burqa.
Rubi would whisper, “Play the bashful wife. You’re getting famous.”
“But you’re carrying me in public!”
“And they love it. We’re the colony’s power couple. And you are my cute little wife.”
Trouble at the Market.
One afternoon, they were scouting the lane behind a suspected supplier when a local goon tried to block their way.
“Move aside,” Rubi said, still in her male disguise, Aditya clutched in her arms.
The goon smirked. “Why don’t you let the wife talk?”
Aditya stayed silent, trembling in his disguise.
Goon grabbed his wrist.
CRACK!
In one move, Rubi twisted the man’s arm and kicked him into a sack of potatoes.
Another one lunged.
Still holding Aditya with one arm, Rubi elbowed the second man unconscious.
The crowd cheered.
“She’s got such a protective husband!” a vendor laughed.
Aditya whispered, “Remind me never to mess with you.”
The Discovery.
After a week of surveillance and successful cover, Aditya found something strange—a ledger tucked inside a paint can in the alley.
They rushed back to their room.
But just as they began decoding it, a knock came at the door.
“Neighbour’s kitty party!” a voice called.
Rubi panicked. “Quick, in the burqa!”
Aditya whined, “Again?!”
Too late. She scooped him onto her hip like a sleepy toddler, wrapped the burqa over him, and opened the door.
The women gushed. “Fathima is so delicate! Your arms must ache, Rashid Bhai!”
Rubi chuckled in her man-voice, “Never. I lift her all the time. She is such a little woman.”
Aditya muttered from under the cloth, “I swear I will arrest you when this is over.”
Mission Complete.
With evidence collected, they coordinated the raid. Neha led the real team in.
Rubi and Aditya, still in disguise, walked out through the chaos, unnoticed.
Back at HQ, Rubi tossed off the beard. Aditya yanked off the burqa, vowing never to wear one again.
Neha clapped them on the back. “Great work. You two are a hit.”
Rubi grinned. “Aditya got marriage proposals.”
He groaned. “From three men!”
Neha laughed. “Well, they liked how your Rubi ‘husband’ carried you.”
Aditya sighed, “I’ll never live this down.”
Rubi leaned in close.
“Oh, you’ll live it down. But first—”
She lifted him again.
“Let’s take one last walk through the office. For the fans.”
Epilogue: Poster 2.0
Next month, a new motivational poster went up in the women's barracks:
“Sometimes the weaker partner wears the burqa.”
(Photo: Rubi holding a shy, veiled Aditya in her arms. Again.)
Aditya stared at it.
“This is harassment.”
Neha said, “This is branding.”
Rubi added, “This is love.”
And before he could protest—she carried him out of the room, whistling.
