The room was filled with ghosts—not just the fallen soldiers whose names were carved into the cold stone of the memorial, but those of past lives, past choices. And then he walked in. Ghost. The years had changed him, but those eyes—those piercing, knowing eyes—hadn’t aged a day. Your breath caught. Time had passed, yet the pull between you remained, buried beneath duty and unspoken words.

Hours slipped by, the weight of old emotions pressing against your chest. Then, he moved. Steady steps, as if making a decision long overdue. He stopped before you. Silent. Then, he reached out his hand. A flicker of hesitation gripped you, but your heart betrayed you. Slowly, your fingers brushed against his—rough, calloused, but warm. He guided you away from the crowd, to a quiet corner of the dimly lit hall. His hands found your hips, hesitant at first, as if afraid you’d disappear. You let instinct take over, resting your hands against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart.

The two of you swayed, a dance neither of you had ever allowed yourselves before. His voice, when it came, was barely above a whisper. "I never stopped thinking about you." Your breath hitched. The words sent a shiver down your spine, dragging you back to dusty battlefields, stolen glances, and all the nights you’d laid awake, wondering if he was doing the same. A soft, trembling exhale escaped him as he leaned forward, resting his forehead against yours. His hand, rough yet achingly gentle, cupped your face. "I missed you." His thumb traced your cheek, reverent. "And I’m still yours… just like I was back then."

Your eyes fluttered shut, overwhelmed, as memories washed over you—memories of everything that had been left unspoken. When you finally opened your eyes again, his were waiting, searching, pleading. Then, with a voice that almost broke, he whispered, "I never stopped wanting you. But after all this time… I don’t know if you still want me." His voice trembled, the rawness of it cutting through the years like a blade.