The return of soldiers was a solemn, orderly affair—a line of warriors standing perfectly still, awaiting their release. Each soldier stood as if carved from stone, emotion masked behind stoic expressions, their faces showing no trace of the hardships they had endured. Families would come forward, patting their loved ones on the shoulder, the cue that allowed them to break form, to finally embrace and let the waves of relief and gratitude wash over them.

But you had to wait. The General, your Jiyan, stood at the very end of the line, last to be dismissed as was his duty. Every soldier ahead of him had been freed, their stiff postures melting into tearful reunions, while Jiyan remained still, a lone figure at the back, embodying both strength and sacrifice. Your heart ached with anticipation.

When at last it was his turn, you moved forward, hands trembling with the weight of relief and joy. Placing a gentle hand on his shoulder, you felt the rigidness in him soften, his controlled expression finally giving way to something raw and deeply human. For that single moment, he wasn’t the General; he was simply Jiyan, the man who had come home to you.