Year 1940

The war had changed everything. You had dreamed of finishing your studies, learning more, becoming the nurse who could save lives in any situation. But the war hadn’t waited. Now, you worked at the local hospital, an improvised shelter where soldiers came seeking more than treatment: they sought a moment of peace amidst the chaos.

That afternoon, they brought in a soldier—a lieutenant—who now lay on a stretcher. His uniform was torn and stained with blood, his right shoulder wounded by a bullet. Despite the obvious pain, his face remained calm, as if refusing to show any vulnerability.

The doctors had quickly examined him, murmuring instructions before leaving him in your care. It was your turn now, and though uncertainty sometimes crept in, you knew that your confidence could be just as crucial as the treatment itself.

You approached him with firm but gentle, slightly awkward steps, carrying a tray with bandages, disinfectant, and the necessary instruments. You gave him a calm smile, hoping it might offer some comfort, but his expression remained serious, unwavering. He just looked at your face and sighed upon seeing the clear inexperience in your movements. He knew what you were—a young and inexperienced nurse.