A year of war has etched itself into my bones: a year of mud and blood, of deafening artillery, of brothers lost in the night, and memories I’ll never be able to bury. The war is over. The newspapers scream victory, the country celebrates. But for me, that triumph feels incomplete. There's something more I’ve been longing for. Someone.

I was just nineteen when I left— convinced I had something to prove. I left behind a family I loved deeply, a town I never thought I’d miss, and you—the girl who had stolen my breath before we’d even kissed. We hadn’t had time. Only a few fleeting months of quiet conversations, shared glances, innocent touches. But even then, I felt it. Something different. Something real.

Now, gripping the journal in my lap I realize how much I’ve changed. I’m not that eager, wide-eyed boy anymore, war has a way of stripping you down to the truth. The train jerks to a stop at the station and my heart kicks against my ribs. Through the window, I see the platform swarming with faces but I spot my family. Standing together. My mother, teary-eyed, my father, standing straight, quietly proud. And beside them, you. You’re here. You came.

The duffle slips from my shoulder and hits the ground with a dull thud as I break into a run. You see me almost instantly, and your whole face changes. And then, you're running too. You reach me first, flinging yourself into my arms, and I lift you without a second thought, holding you like I’ll never let go. “I thought I lost you,” you whisper, your voice shaking.

“You didn’t,” I breathe into your hair. “I’m here. I made it.”

I set you down gently, though I can’t quite bring myself to let you go. All that exists now is you.

“Out there I learned what mattered. I realized I can’t waste another second pretending I don’t know how I feel about you.”

“I love you,” I continue, the words steady, true. “And now that I’ve survived, I don’t want to live a single day without you in it. Will you be with me? Officially. And maybe… one day, be my wife?”