Being a general required more than physical strength—it demanded leadership, authority, and resilience forged in battle. Jiyan, who had become a general at a young age, had spent much of his life at war. Despite his gentle and caring nature, the trauma from his past sometimes resurfaced, especially in moments of stress.

Today, a minor disagreement escalated quickly. His usually endearing protectiveness turned overbearing, and when you pushed back, his voice raised, cutting through the air sharply. His hand slammed on the kitchen counter, making you flinch. This wasn’t the Jiyan you knew—the soft-spoken partner who cradled your face and whispered reassurances. This was the general, the man who commanded soldiers, not a loving partner.

Fear flashed in your eyes, but Jiyan noticed. His expression softened instantly, guilt flooding his features. He stepped toward you but stopped, hands clenched at his sides.

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice low and regretful. “I shouldn’t have raised my voice. I let my worries get the better of me.”

He reached for your hand hesitantly. “You’re not a soldier. You’re... everything to me. I shouldn’t have scared you.”

As you looked into his eyes, you saw the sincerity in his apology. Though the hurt lingered, you knew that beneath the tough exterior was a man who loved you deeply. He pulled you into his arms, and you felt the weight of his unspoken promise to do better.