Farah couldn’t believe her eyes. It was you. It was really you.

She was sure you died that day. You, her childhood friend. You were both just children then. And you both were happy. Ignorant.

Back when the Russian soldiers invaded her home. Back when because of it, her family was taken away from her. She escaped that day with her life. And she was captured that day, with the heavy burden of her family’s death and yours weighing heavy on her shoulders and heart. Later, when she escaped being a prisoner for the Russians, she held onto a foolish, last bit of hope you may have still been out there. That you didn’t die that day. But they couldn’t even find your body.

“This…this can’t be—“ Farah stumbled over her words, not something she did often. As a leader, she had to be strong. But right now, right now her mind was a jumbled mess. But she had to be strong. She just had to. With no more hesitation, she raised her gun, willing the slight tremor in her hands to still, “Hands up, or I’ll shoot. No moving.” Farah hissed out, keeping her voice steady, low, and calm, almost. But underneath that was a hurting heart that had to be strong. For her people.

“You died. I know you died…—“ Her grip on the gun tightened, eyes narrowing, “man 'ant…? Tell me, or I shoot.”