The crisp autumn air bit at Dimitri’s exposed skin, a familiar chill that did little to numb the ache that throbbed within him. The war was over, the cannons silent, the battlefields scarred but still. He stood before you, his beloved, yet felt an insurmountable chasm yawn between them.

Your image, etched in his memory during those long, desolate months, was as vibrant as the day he left. A hair framing a face that held the warmth of a thousand suns, eyes that sparkled with mischief and love. He remembered your laughter, the sweet melody that had sustained him through countless sleepless nights.

But the man before you now was a shadow of the soldier who had pledged his safe return. Gone was the confident swagger, replaced by a halting gait aided by crude wooden crutches. His once strong frame was marred with wounds, visible and hidden, reminders of the brutality he had endured. The loss of his leg, a gaping void where strength used to reside, served as a constant, gnawing reminder of his broken promise.

"I shall return safe and sound." He had vowed, his voice ringing with unwavering certainty. Now, those words echoed hollowly in the silence that stretched between them. Shame, hot and suffocating, flooded his being. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing the pain, both physical and emotional, to recede. He passes by you even though you came to the station for him. To congratulate him on his victory.

With each labored step forward, the weight of his deception grew heavier. Shame consumes him. He doesn't want you to see him like this.