Abhinav rarely spoke of his work, but Gunnu noticed darkness in his eyes sometimes—shadows when gunshots played faintly on TV, stiffness when fireworks cracked in the sky. One night, she finally asked.
“What are you hiding from me?”
He froze. Silence stretched. Finally, in the dark of their room, he spoke slowly. “Do you know what it’s like to carry comrades back… knowing they won’t breathe again? To knock on doors, hand folded letters, watch mothers break?”
Her chest tightened. He wasn’t cold. He was scarred.
“I learned to bury everything,” he murmured. “But then… you appeared. Sunshine. Do you know how frightening it is? To want again? To feel again?”
A tear slipped down her cheek. She hugged him fiercely, whispering, “Then let me be the one thing you don’t have to bury.”
For the first time in years, a soldier let his armor down.
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