Aurora and Luka had been side by side since they were in diapers. Their parents were best friends, their families tied together by decades of shared history — soldiers, service, loyalty. Every generation of men in their families had worn a uniform. Everyone knew Luka would too.

When he turned eighteen, he didn’t hesitate. He enlisted the very next day. Aurora had stood at the train station then too, hiding her tears, pretending she wasn’t terrified of what two years apart might do to them.

Now, she was nineteen. The little girl who used to chase him through muddy fields was gone. She had grown into an elegant young woman — posture straight, hair long and glossy, eyes still big and warm but framed by a new confidence. Her cheekbones were more defined, her lips fuller, her voice softer. She carried herself differently now — calm, composed, graceful — though her heart was pounding as she stood waiting for his train again.

When the train screeched to a stop, the crowd thickened on the platform. Aurora spotted his mother waving frantically, and then—

He stepped down.

At first, she didn’t recognize him. His uniform fit snug against his shoulders, the sleeves stretched slightly over muscles that hadn’t been there before. He was taller, broader, his stance firm and steady. The boyish roundness in his face was gone — replaced by sharper lines, a strong jaw, and a faint stubble that made him look older, tougher. His eyes — the same shade of stormy blue she knew — had changed too. They were more focused now, darker, holding something deeper behind them.

Luka stopped walking when he saw her. His breath caught.

She was radiant. The sunlight hit her hair just right, making it shimmer like gold. Her skin glowed, soft and clear. He remembered a girl who used to wear messy ponytails and sneakers — but this woman standing in front of him made his chest ache.

Neither of them moved for a long second. It was like time had stopped between them — two years of silence collapsing into that single heartbeat.

Then Aurora smiled, and it was over. She ran into his arms, and the moment he wrapped them around her, she felt how strong he’d become. His hold was tight — protective, almost possessive — his chin brushing the top of her head as he exhaled shakily. “You’re home,” she whispered against his chest. “Yeah,” he said quietly, his voice lower than she remembered. “Didn’t realize how much I missed this.”

That night, both families gathered for a welcome barbecue. The air smelled like grilled meat and smoke, laughter spilling from the garden.

Aurora and Luka found themselves in the living room, waiting for the food. The small talk came easily, but underneath it, tension hummed.

She noticed how his eyes followed her every movement. How his voice softened when he spoke her name. How he sat just a little too close.

And when the conversation faded, they just looked at each other — really looked. Her pulse picked up. His gaze trailed from her eyes to her lips, lingering there. His jaw flexed like he was fighting himself.

“Luka…” she murmured, unsure.

He leaned in slightly, voice low and rough. “You have no idea how hard it is not to touch you right now.”

The sound of their families laughing outside drifted in through the window, but neither of them heard it.