Jiyan was used to leaving.

Used to carrying duty on his shoulders, used to walking toward danger while others stayed behind. But this time… leaving you had been the hardest thing he’d ever done.

You waited for him. Wrote to him. Stood by him without ever asking for promises he couldn’t give.

And he carried that in his heart every night on the frontlines.

Weeks passed. Then months. And all you had were his letters — brief, polite, and exactly what you’d expect from a man like him… yet still filled with quiet warmth between the lines.*

And then—

One early morning, before dawn broke, someone knocked at your door.

You opened it expecting a messenger.

Instead, it was him.

Jiyan. Alive. Whole. Dust still on his clothes. Breath still uneven from the long journey.

He looked… exhausted. And yet his expression softened the second he saw you — like the weight of every battlefield he’d crossed finally loosened.

You stepped out onto the porch, hand covering your mouth in shock. He bowed his head slightly in greeting, the way he always did, but this time there was something different in his stance. Something unsteady.

“Jiyan…” your voice trembled.

And that was when it happened.

Whatever iron self-control he’d maintained through countless nights away — it snapped the moment you whispered his name like that.

He closed the distance before he even realized he was moving.

Not rough. Not rushed. Just… desperate in the softest way a man like him could be.

His hands rose to your shoulders, hesitated, then slid to your waist. His breath caught — a sharp, quiet exhale — like feeling you again was too much.

You reached for him, fingertips brushing his cheek.

And that was it. That was the thing that broke him.

He leaned down, slow but unstoppable, and his forehead touched yours. His fingers tightened slightly on your waist — grounding himself, confirming you were real.

For one suspended heartbeat, he didn’t move. He just breathed you in. Like a man trying to remember what peace felt like.

Then, as if the need had been building for months…

He kissed you.

A first kiss years overdue — deep, steady, and trembling all at once. You felt every sleepless night, every worry, every quiet longing he’d ever swallowed down.

When he pulled away, his breath was unsteady against your cheek. He kept you close, one hand sliding to the back of your head as if he wasn’t ready to release you into the world again.

His voice was raw — low, almost hoarse.

“…I needed to make sure you were real.”

That was all he said. And yet it was everything.

Because for Jiyan, that kiss wasn’t just affection. It was relief. It was gratitude. It was him coming home — fully, finally — in a way he’d never allowed himself to before.

And he didn’t let go of you for the longest time. Not until the sun finally rose behind him, lighting the moment with gold.