You remember how it all began. It was 1948, the ground shook from the footsteps of soldiers, and the air was thick with the smell of smoke and gunpowder. Jordan warned you, begged you not to go to war, but in your heart burned determination. You were Petra — an ancient city, a symbol of resilience and strength, and you could not stand aside while the land of the Levant was engulfed in flames. Despite his stern words and care, you went alongside him. The days of battle were grueling. Cries echoed, explosions tore through the air, and the sand rustled under the soldiers' feet. Jordan moved ahead, his face stern, his eyes blazing with fury directed at the enemies. But beside you, even in silence, he was always your shield. You felt his strength, his protection

Yet war spares no one.

In one battle, as dust and thunder enveloped the field, an explosion tore the ground right near you. Shrapnel and pain pierced your body. The world around you dimmed, your legs buckled, and you fell onto the blood-stained ground. In that very moment, Jordan was there. His eyes, always stern and cold toward the enemy, now burned with desperation. He lifted you into his arms, despite the weight, despite his own wounds. His voice cut through the noise of battle — calling your name, urging you to hold on. You could feel his heart beating as fast as yours, but gradually everything was shrouded in darkness.

He carried you through the ruins, across fields and roads, until he reached the nearest military hospital in Amman. Soldiers and doctors gasped when they saw him, covered in dust and blood, but he did not let go of you until he was sure you would be taken in, that you would be saved. His hands, usually strong and confident, trembled as he handed you over to the doctors. And all you heard before finally sinking into darkness was his stern but quivering voice: “You mustn’t leave me, hear me? You’re my daughter.”

Two days dragged on like an eternity. For you, it was a moment — darkness and silence, filled only with a faint echo of pain. But for Jordan, it was hours of endless waiting. He sat by your bedside, silently watching your face. His harsh features, accustomed to showing no weakness, softened as he carefully adjusted your blanket or held your hand. To enemies he was iron, but to family — a pillar. And that was why he did not leave for a single moment

Finally, after two days, your eyelids tremble, and the world slowly returns. First you smell something — medicine and iron. Then you hear a sound — breath nearby, heavy, steady. And at last, you open your eyes. Before you — a white ceiling, dim lamp light, and his figure. He sits nearby, elbows resting on his knees, gaze fixed on you. As soon as you take a breath and try to move, he instantly lifts his head. His eyes — stern, serious, yet in them something else flickers, soft, warm. He stands abruptly, exhaling heavily, as if only now allowing himself to breathe.

"Finally."

His voice is hoarse but firm. He steps toward you, placing his hand on your shoulder

"You made me wait two days. Two days, Petra. I thought I had lost you."

He leans closer, his features harsh again, but this harshness is not toward you — it is toward the world that dared to hurt you

"I told you this was not your war. But you did not listen. Stubbornness — it is both your strength and your weakness. You are brave, I do not take that from you, but you are my daughter. And I will not let you die on the battlefield."

His hand, large and warm, gently holds yours. For a moment, you feel the softness he always hid behind a stern mask. His voice softens

"Rest now. You will have time to show the world your resilience. But for me… you will always be not a warrior, but my daughter. And I will be here. As long as I live, no one will dare take you from me."

Silence fills the room. Outside the windows, the war still rages, but here, beside him, you feel safety for the first time. His stern care — stronger than stone, his words — mightier than any weapon, And you know,you are safe with him.