Hello, Mr. Major General (1)

Chapter 117 - Spoiling Her Silly

Rohit inwardly rolled his eyes: Mr. Shukla was a perfectionist, a complete tyrant with exacting standards and a critical eye, but he was always spoiling Shehnaaz silly.

Her pajamas were ugly as sin, and yet Mr. Shukla had, with a completely straight face, praised them all the same.

You’ve got to be kidding me.

Deepak was also mentally cussing Sidharth out.

If he was so insanely protective of her now, what was he going to be like when Sana married?

Deepak involuntarily shuddered at the thought. He muttered a silent prayer for Shehnaaz’s future husband.

As for Shehnaaz, everyone else had disappeared from her world the moment she laid eyes on Sidharth.

She launched into a long-winded and detailed account of everything that had happened to her since arriving in
America. She did not mention the cameras Rashmi had concealed in the previous apartment, of course—she did not want Sidharth to worry.

Sidharth did not speak. He merely watched Shehnaaz as she prattled on in a one-sided conversation.

This went on for some time; Shehnaaz eventually noticed Deepak and Rohit yawning, and realized she had been dominating the conversation. She said, sheepishly, “Oh, am I boring you? Uncle Sid, I’ll be sure to keep it short and sweet next time, but you must call me more often.” She looked at her watch and discovered that it was almost time for her afternoon classes.

Sidharth finally spoke. “How many of those black T-shirts do you have?”

Shehnaaz immediately flushed.

Sure enough, she had been caught red-handed.

Shehnaaz stammered out,” N-Not many…”

“How many?” Sidharth frowned, ever so slightly. “This is very important.”

“Just…four.” Shehnaaz’s forehead was glued to the table as she bent over and hid her face. Her posture and expression clearly displayed how embarrassed she was.

Sidharth said, “Okay. Give them to Big Rohit so he can dispose of them.”

He was not in the habit of explaining his instructions, but made an exception this time since Shehnaaz seemed about ready to die of embarrassment. “Those T-shirts were
custom-made for me, and have very specific markings on them. You might attract unwanted attention if the wrong people over there sees them.”

Shehnaaz, Rohit, and Deepak suddenly
understood what he was saying. If they had admired him for his intelligence before, they were ready to put him on an altar and worship him now: Sidharth had been one step ahead of them, as usual. The black T-shirts belonging to Sidharth had been especially manufactured by the
Indian Army for him, and were all uniquely marked.

If the United States CIA got their hands on even a tiny piece of the fabric, they might be able to restore the entire shirt, and deduce that one of the India’s major generals, or at least someone with close ties to him, had come to America.

Sidharth was right: this could end up being disastrous for both Shehnaaz and Rohit.

“I’ll destroy them right away, Sir.” Rohit thumped his chest; he ran to Shehnaaz’s room and rummaged through her closet for the pajamas she had brought with her.

Shehnaaz’s face had turned a deeper shade of red. She was very embarrassed, but she knew she had to apologize for her mistake. She stood up, bowed towards the camera, and said sincerely, “Uncle Sid, I messed up. This won’t ever happen again, I promise.”