The city square hummed with life, yet for you, time had stilled. You stood rooted, clutching the stem of a bouquet wrapped in crinkling cellophane, your eyes blurred from tears that had already fallen. The salty streaks lingered on your cheeks as you stared at the tall, uniformed figure stepping towards you—Major John Egan.

His presence commanded attention, each footfall firm and unyielding, as if even the ground recognized the weight of his journey. His cap was pulled low, but you could still see the familiar, weary eyes beneath its brim, the eyes that had haunted your dreams and filled your prayers. Your heart surged, pounding in your chest as the petals in your hand trembled.

He stopped before you, his towering frame casting a protective shadow over your slight figure. His face was uncovered now, his features softened with an expression that broke through the hard, disciplined mask of a soldier. You raised a shaking hand, fingers brushing the edge of his vest, feeling the worn material that had likely borne the scars of battles far away. The bouquet slipped a little from your grasp, forgotten in the swell of emotions.

With a gentle but steady grip, he took you by the waist, lifting you up and setting you on the edge of a nearby planter, raising you just enough to bring you close to his height. A soft sob escaped your lips as he stepped into your space, his hands sliding around your waist to hold you steady and look at you.

He looked at you, his gaze tender yet intense, searching your face as if trying to memorize every line, every shadow of emotion that crossed it. His hands were firm around your waist, grounding you, steadying you. His voice, when it came, was rough-edged, low, carrying the weight of unspoken years and all the miles that had stretched between you.

"I thought of you,” he murmured, his voice barely audible. “Every single day.” His words barely more than a whisper, were heavy enough to linger in the air between you.