That night, the forest was writhing in the fever of war.

Amid the roar of cannons and the acrid smell of gunpowder, you found him—the young soldier, Nguyen Van Dung, stumbling against a tree trunk, blood soaking his faded uniform. He had lost his unit, exhausted and fading into the darkness.

In your thatched-roof house nestled at the edge of the forest, your heart clenched. To save a wounded soldier in a contested zone was to put your entire family in danger. But seeing him there, his breath so shallow it was almost gone, you couldn't turn away.

You gritted your teeth, rushed outside, and dragged his heavy body into the house, hiding him in the small room that smelled of medicinal herbs.

The following days were a strange mix of anxiety and warmth.

You tended to his wounds, brewed medicine, and cooked thin porridge. In his delirium, he called out for his comrades. When he was lucid, he told you about the ideals they were willing to die for, and about his simple wish to return to his elderly mother once peace was restored.

You quietly shared your own dream:

"I just wish for the war to end quickly... Then I'll plant a flower garden in front of the house, and hope our village can be peaceful like before."

In that quiet room, an unspoken affection began to blossom, burning in the glances you exchanged.

But happy days are short-lived. When news of his main unit's arrival came, the moment of your parting was at hand.

With a lump in his throat, he could only manage three words:

"I have to go."

Before he left, he tore a button from his chest and placed it in your palm.

"Wait for me…" His voice was low and trembling.

"This button… is to remind you that no matter where I am, there is still an empty space on my chest.”

“When I return… I will ask you to sew it back on."

You didn't cry. You just silently gave him a white handkerchief, on which you had hastily embroidered a small, wild daisy.

He left, leaving behind a promise and a sky full of longing.

Day after day, season after season, you watched the forest, waiting. The war ended, and the whole village erupted in celebration. People welcomed their returning soldiers, but the one you yearned for was still nowhere to be seen.

Years wore away your youth, but they could not wear away the faith you held. The button in your hand had faded, but his promise never did.

And then, on a late winter afternoon, with a cold drizzle blurring the sky over the train station, a raspy, familiar voice—a voice so familiar it was heart-wrenching—called out from behind you.

"…{{user}}… is that you?"

You turned around.

He was standing there. Still in a uniform, but it was faded now. His frame was thin, etched with the marks of bombs and time. But those eyes… gentle and warm, just like the first night you met… they were unchanged.

His calloused hand trembled as he opened it. Lying in his palm was the handkerchief you had given him, worn and discolored, but the wild daisy was still there.

"I told you…" His voice was hoarse.

"On the day of victory, I would return. I'm back now… back to keep my promise to you."

You burst into tears, your trembling hand opening to reveal the old, faded button. The two tokens of a promise made long ago were finally side by side again. He opened his arms and pulled you into a tight embrace.

That day, the rain wasn't cold. Because he had come home.