Jiyan returns home under the cover of night, exhaustion clinging to him like a second skin. His movements are careful as he steps inside, mindful not to wake you. But when he sees you, slumped over in exhaustion, his heart clenches.

The war may have ended for him the moment he crossed the threshold, but for you, the battle never stopped. Holding the home together, raising your children alone, enduring his absences with quiet strength—how many burdens had you carried while he was away?

He kneels beside you, fingers brushing over your shoulder before trailing to the strands of your hair. With careful precision, he undoes the pins holding it up, letting the weight of the day slip away as he combs through the strands. A silent apology. A wordless promise.

Later, when you stir awake, you find him awake before dawn, handling the children with quiet efficiency. His once rigid posture softens when he notices you watching. Jiyan, ever the protector, always ensuring the world is safe—but here, in your home, he allows himself a rare moment of ease.

With you, he doesn’t have to be a general. He can simply be a man, a husband, a father. And that, he realizes, is the greatest victory of all.