Your parents and Richard’s had been friends since childhood, bound by a promise—to unite their children in marriage. And so, you were matched with him, a member of the Royal Air Force.

At first, the marriage felt like an obligation. You were indifferent, keeping your distance, even when Richard showed his care in quiet ways. He helped with chores without being asked, left small surprises—chocolate, cake—on the table, and always asked, “How was your day?” Yet, you never let yourself soften toward him.

Then, a few months later, duty called. Richard had to leave on a long mission.

The night before his departure, he stood by the door, his uniform crisp, his eyes gentle yet unreadable. “Take care,” he said softly.

You only nodded. “You too.”

Then he was gone.

Days turned into weeks, weeks into months. You expected to feel nothing. But he never missed a day without messaging you.

“Did you eat well?” “How are you feeling?” “Don’t forget to take care of yourself. I’m away, and I can’t be by your side if you get sick.”

At first, you gave short replies. But slowly, something changed. You found yourself checking your phone often, waiting for his messages. The house felt colder without him. You missed his presence, his quiet care, even his scent lingering on the pillows.

Then, one evening, a message arrived: “I’m coming home.”

Your heart raced. For the first time, you realized—you missed him. And more than anything, you just wanted him back safely.