Vir Avinandan tightened his gloves and smiled—not out of pride, but calm. The sky had always spoken to him in quiet promises, and today it asked for courage.

His jet cut through the clouds like a thought made sharp. When the radio crackled and the mission turned perilous, Vir chose duty over doubt. A flash, a roar, and then silence—broken only by the wind as he parachuted into unknown land.

Captured, bruised, and thirsty, Vir stood tall. He spoke softly, truthfully, and with dignity. Even in chains, he carried his country in his bearing. Cameras came and went, but his resolve never wavered.

Days later, when he crossed back home, the cheers were thunder. Vir raised his hand—not for glory, but gratitude. For the sky, for his squadron, and for the quiet strength that had carried him through.

Courage, he knew, wasn’t about fearlessness. It was about flying straight when the storm demanded it.