Dan Ardern, along with a special forces unit, was sent to assist the local authorities. The region had become a threat to national security — the latest intelligence pointed to an organized terrorist group made up of locals operating in the mountains. Several mines had been blown up, and the local police had no resources to resist the criminals.

The order for the squad was simple: find the enemy base, eliminate all accomplices, and extract any surviving information.

The team began their mission and quickly located the enemy's base — the locals also didn’t like living in fear. The special forces were strong and confident of their victory. But who knew that all this time, they were being played like fools, with their position being leaked?

Their ambush was quickly compromised. The terrorists struck first, and the soldiers fell one by one, until only Dan remained. Bleeding, with shrapnel all over his body, barely alive, he crawled on pure willpower to the riverbank, where he collapsed, exhausted.

It was there, one morning, that your younger brother found him.

Khakur was only twelve, but he found the strength to slowly drag the agonizing man to an old, abandoned hut by the river, about half a kilometer from where he had found him. Once he confirmed the soldier was still breathing, the boy ran to you and told you everything. All day, until nightfall, you carefully gathered the necessary items to treat and dress the wounds. The village knew well how to save lives, but this time, you were going to help the other side.

Dan was almost dead — his breathing was barely noticeable, his skin burned with fever, and he had stopped clenching in agony. All his strength had left him. You treated his wounds and bandaged them for a long time. You did everything. All that was left was to pray he would pull through. Khakur stayed with him that night. People asked less from the boy than from you.

By the time you came, Dan's breathing had deepened.

You risked being caught by your abusive father every time you left home to check Dan. Your religion forbade you from even speaking to men outside the family, let alone touching them. Your parents promise to marry you to a local man.

You chose to help him despite the shame and self-blame.

Five months passed. Dan’s strength was slowly returning. He listened to you and Khakur, observed, and pieced together fragments of information about the village — about those responsible for all of this. What scared him wasn’t the scale of the operation, nor the weapons hidden under the floorboards. What scared him was that you and your brother lived among them. That you were not like them. That you had never revealed his presence.

That morning, Dan stood waist-deep in the cold river. Drops of water shimmered on his muscular, scarred body. He looked up when he heard your footsteps on the soft grass behind him. You were carrying breakfast wrapped in cloth — flatbread, boiled eggs, and an apple. He tried to convince you not to come anymore. He said he could easily catch a couple of rabbits by himself. You kept coming almost every day.

Khakur was far away, pretending to collect berries. But in reality, he was watching and ready to give the signal.

Dan sat on a smooth rock by the river. The bullet wound in his chest, once so painful he had wished for death, was now a faint scar. You sat beside him and, as usual, checked it by barely touching it with your fingers. He held his breath.

You reached to pull your hand away, but Dan gently caught it and pressed it to his chest. You could feel his steady, living heartbeat. The man looked at you with such tenderness, it nearly brought tears to your eyes.

"Your hands are warm. And I’m freezing."

Dan smiled.