The first few months in the new district passed with a strange mix of respect and distance. Aarohi could feel it everywhere—in the way officers spoke carefully, in the sudden punctuality of files, in the silence that followed her instructions. Fear had enforced discipline faster than inspiration ever could.
But fear was not what she wanted.
That realization came to her one evening as she sat alone in her office, long after sunset. The lights in most rooms were off, the building echoing with emptiness. She looked at the neatly stacked files on her desk—progress reports, compliance notes, grievance redressals.
Everything was moving.
And yet, something felt missing.
Respect Without Warmth
During a routine review meeting, Aarohi noticed how officers avoided discussion.
"Yes, Madam."
"As per rules, Madam."
"Approved, Madam."
No questions. No suggestions. No disagreement.
Efficiency had increased, but honesty had reduced.
After the meeting, she called her deputy.
"Why is no one speaking freely?" she asked.
The deputy hesitated. "Madam… people are afraid of making mistakes in front of you."
Aarohi felt a quiet sting.
She had worked her entire life to escape fear—only to become a source of it.
The Burden of Reputation
Her reputation had grown faster than her relationships.
"Strict officer."
"No favoritism."
"Acts even against family."
The labels followed her everywhere.
At first, she accepted them as the cost of integrity. But slowly, she realized the danger: when people fear you, they stop telling you the truth.
And truth was essential.
A Forgotten Complaint
One afternoon, a sanitation worker fainted outside the district office. Aarohi rushed him to the hospital.
Later, she learned the reason—unpaid wages for three months.
Her stomach tightened.
"How did this not reach my office?" she asked.
An officer replied quietly, "Madam… people don't come directly anymore. They're scared."
That night, Aarohi could not sleep.
Discipline without accessibility was not justice.
Relearning Leadership
The next day, Aarohi made an unexpected announcement.
Every Friday afternoon would be Open Office Hours.
No appointments.
No intermediaries.
Anyone could walk in.
The staff was stunned.
"Madam, this may create chaos," someone warned.
"Then we will manage chaos," Aarohi replied.
Voices That Were Waiting
The first Friday was overwhelming.
Farmers. Teachers. Contract workers. Mothers with children.
Some spoke hesitantly. Some cried. Some simply handed written complaints with trembling hands.
Aarohi listened.
Not as an officer behind a desk—but as a human being across a table.
By evening, her throat hurt, her head ached, but her heart felt strangely lighter.
This was what had been missing.
Resistance From Within
Not everyone approved.
"This weakens authority," a senior officer commented privately.
Aarohi responded calmly, "Authority that fears people is already weak."
Slowly, the tone began to shift.
Officers started discussing problems honestly. Mistakes were admitted early. Solutions became collaborative.
Fear began giving way to responsibility.
The Cost of Accessibility
But openness came with a price.
False complaints increased. Emotional confrontations became frequent. Her personal time disappeared.
Some nights, Aarohi questioned herself again.
Is this sustainable?
She remembered her childhood once more—how no adult had listened to her pain.
She refused to become that adult.
A Quiet Acknowledgment
Weeks later, during a district event, a sanitation worker approached her.
"My wages are regular now," he said softly. "Thank you for listening."
No applause. No media.
Just truth.
Understanding Loneliness
That night, Aarohi stood alone on her balcony.
Leadership, she understood, was lonely not because people stayed away—but because you must constantly balance strength with compassion, discipline with approachability.
There was no perfect formula.
Only intention.
Choosing the Harder Path
Aarohi chose to continue.
To remain strict—but reachable.
To be fair—but human.
To lead—but listen.
Chapter was not about systems or reforms.
It was about the emotional cost of doing right.
And Aarohi accepted that cost—not as a burden, but as responsibility.
Tomorrow would bring new challenges.
She would face them—as she always had.
Alone, perhaps.
But never unjust.