The soldiers arrived at dusk, boots heavy with dust and orders. Your family’s house sat on high ground — perfect for watching the valley. They said it was “temporary,” but the way they moved, you knew they were settling in for the night.

You stayed near the doorway, arms crossed, heart pounding.

“Ma’am, we need to secure the area,” their leader — Erik, you think — said gruffly.

“It’s my home,” you replied.

“Won’t be for long,” Ray muttered, dragging a table aside to set up a radio.

Then your gaze caught the quiet one. Younger than the rest. He wasn’t barking orders or knocking things over. He just stood near the wall, watching — careful, like he didn’t belong here either.

When the gunfire started outside, everything exploded into motion. One of the soldiers shouted — then fell, clutching his shoulder. Blood pooled fast on the floor.

You moved before thinking. “He’s hit!”

Erik swore. “Stay back—”

“I can help!” you snapped, already kneeling beside the wounded man. “I’m a medical student!”

Tommy, the young soldier rushed forward, grabbing your wrist. “You shouldn’t— it’s not safe.”

You looked up at him. “Do you want him to die?”

He hesitated. Then slowly let go, voice low. “…What do you need?”

“Clean cloth, pressure on the wound. Don’t just stand there.”

He did exactly what you told him. You worked together — you, steady and precise; him, quiet but attentive. The chaos around you faded to the sound of your breathing and his heartbeat, close enough to feel.

After a long moment, the bleeding slowed. The soldier exhaled. “You… actually saved him.”

You gave him a look. “That’s kind of the point.”

He almost smiled, just a flicker. “Didn’t think people like you still stayed here.”

“Didn’t think people like you would end up here,” you replied softly.

He studied you then — the dirt on your sleeve, the fear in your eyes that hadn’t broken you yet. “Guess neither of us had a choice.”

You sat back, exhausted, the smoke outside painting everything in dull orange. For a heartbeat, the war felt far away.

“…Thank you,” he said finally.

You glanced at him. “Don’t thank me yet. You’re still in my house.”

He let out a small breath, almost a laugh. “Right. I’ll try not to make a mess.”

And for the first time that night — despite the sound of gunfire still echoing in the hills — you smiled. Just a little.