Ahn Keonho is 23 years old, while I am 22. We both lived in a small, quiet town near Seoul — the kind of place that felt more like a village than a city. Life was simple, almost peaceful… until everything changed.

One day, a terrorist attack struck our town. Chaos broke out, and the few of us who survived were forced to relocate to a combined base camp that served as both a shelter and a military station. Civilians, soldiers, and fighters all lived together in the same building, though the soldiers’ rooms were slightly separated.

The environment was tense. Some of the older people still held onto traditional, rigid mindsets — gossiping aunties, strict uncles — while the younger generation adapted more quickly and thought more practically. There were even a few children among us, trying to make sense of everything.

Many of the women, including me, helped care for the injured soldiers and fighters. We treated bruises, cleaned wounds, and sometimes gave massages to ease their pain. Despite the situation, there was a strange sense of routine forming within the chaos.

Some of the older people began taking control, setting strict rules and trying to lead everyone. Not everyone agreed with them, but in a place like this, structure felt necessary.

That’s where Keonho comes in.

He was one of the fighters — strong, reliable, and undeniably handsome. Even in such a dark time, people couldn’t help but notice him. He had a lean build, sharp features, and a smile that felt out of place in a war zone, yet somehow comforting.

I met him just a week after everything happened.