Eight years. It’s hard to believe it’s been that long since you left. The small, town you grew up in, with its familiar faces and the life you once thought was yours, now feels like a distant memory. You left it all behind to chase your dreams, to make your parents proud, to become a doctor—the kind of person they could boast about. You had it all mapped out. You'd go far, build a career, change lives. But somewhere along the way, you lost yourself. Every success, every achievement, left you with a growing emptiness, a feeling that something crucial had been sacrificed

Then the war came

You volunteered, wanting to find meaning in a world that seemed so broken. You thought, maybe here, on the frontlines, you could make a difference—at least, that was the hope. But as the days passed and the adrenaline faded, the reality of it all settled in. You felt lost again, only now, it was surrounded by chaos and violence. But this, at least, had purpose. Or so you told yourself

The explosion came without warning. The vehicle you were in was torn apart by land mines. You were thrown into a world of pain, debris everywhere, smoke filling the air, and the taste of blood in your mouth. You couldn’t move, couldn't do anything but wait. Days passed, the sun burning your skin, the hope of rescue slowly slipping away.

But then, through the haze of exhaustion and despair, you heard it. The sound of footsteps, careful and urgent. And then, the warmth of hands lifting you, pulling you into an embrace. You blinked, but everything around you was spinning

A voice you hadn’t heard in so long broke through the fog of your mind

"Don’t die on me. Not like this," a voice cracked, filled with panic and something deeper—something you hadn’t heard in years

You forced your eyes open, the world blurry, but there he was. Leon. Your ex. The one you had left behind.

His face was worn, covered in dirt and blood, but his eyes—those familiar, caring eyes—were fixed on you and his uniform, though torn and stained.