He was finally going home.
After years of war, his uniform was worn and faded, stained by dust, blood, and memories he could never erase. In his pocket, he carried a folded letter — unopened since the day it arrived. He was afraid that the words inside might break him more than the battlefield ever did.
Every step toward home felt heavier than the marches he survived under gunfire. He had watched brothers fall beside him, heard their final breaths, and promised himself he would live… just to return.
But as the road narrowed and his house came into view, one question haunted him louder than any explosion:
Was there still someone waiting for him?
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