Alice had never seen anything like it before.
The gates buzzed open after a brief scan, and the black car rolled past uniformed guards who stood in perfect attention. It felt like stepping into a different world—everything looked sharp, symmetrical, and impossibly clean. Even the air smelled different: metallic, crisp, disciplined.
Elvin glanced at her from the driver's seat. "It's not a palace," he said gently. "But it's home. For now."
Alice nodded silently, her face pressed against the window, wide eyes soaking in every detail. Rows of identical white buildings lined both sides of the street. Soldiers marched in perfect formation across a distant field. Some paused to salute Elvin's car as it passed.
"Do they know you?" she asked in awe.
Elvin gave a brief nod. "They know me."
He parked in front of a corner building—two stories high, tucked between tall trees. He stepped out first, then opened the door for Alice, holding out his hand like a gentleman in an old movie. She took it instinctively, her small fingers gripping his.
Inside, the quarters felt surprisingly warm.
The living room was modest but cozy. A bookshelf overflowed with military books and old maps. A warm brown couch sat beside a coffee table covered with documents. The scent of leather and faint cologne clung to the air—Elvin's scent.
"This is your house?" she asked, eyes wide as she walked in like a curious kitten.
"Yes. Yours now too."
She paused near the kitchen. "It's cleaner than Papa's," she murmured, making Elvin chuckle.
"I live alone," he said. "No one here to mess it up."
"Until now," she said with a tiny grin.
Elvin raised a brow. "Are you planning to mess it up?"
She giggled, shrugging.
He guided her upstairs to the guest room. "It's not fancy, but it's safe. You can redecorate later if you want."
The room was plain—white walls, soft beige curtains, a small desk, and a neatly made bed with fresh linens. It didn't smell like her old room. There were no dolls, no posters, no glowing stars on the ceiling. But it felt… secure.
Safe.
"I like it," she said quietly.
Elvin leaned against the doorframe. "If you need anything, I'm right across the hall."
She hesitated. "Do I call you… Uncle Elvin?"
His brows lifted. "Only if you want to. Or just Elvin. Or anything you're comfortable with."
She looked thoughtful. "I think I'll just call you Elvin."
He smiled.
That night, he knocked gently on her door holding a small package wrapped in a paper bag. "I picked these up for you earlier," he said.
Alice took it curiously. Inside were a set of clothes—soft pink pajamas with tiny white rabbits printed on them. There was also a toothbrush, fluffy socks, and even a small bottle of strawberry-scented shampoo.
Her lips parted slightly. "You bought these for me?"
"I didn't want you to wear hospital gowns forever," he said, trying to sound casual. But she saw the careful thought behind the gift—every item picked as if he knew what a little girl would want. As if he'd walked into a store full of things he didn't understand and tried anyway.
She hugged the pajamas to her chest, eyes shimmering. "Thank you."
Elvin smiled and ruffled her hair gently. "Good night, Alice."
She changed in the bathroom, brushing her teeth in front of the tall mirror. The pajamas were a little big, but they were soft and warm, and they smelled like the store. She looked at her reflection—face pale, eyes too heavy for her age—but for the first time in days, she didn't look scared.
She tiptoed into her room, but instead of getting into bed, she walked across the hall to Elvin's door. She stood there for a moment before knocking softly.
He opened it in a plain black T-shirt and grey joggers, a book in hand. "Alice?"
"I… can't sleep." Her voice was small. "Can I stay for a while?"
Elvin stepped aside without a word.
She climbed into his bed and sat cross-legged beside him. "Can you read to me?"
He held up the book—a dense military memoir. "This might not be bedtime story material."
She smiled shyly. "Tell me a story about you and Mama."
Elvin stared at her for a long moment. Then he placed the book down, leaned back against the headboard, and said, "Alright. There was a time when your mother beat me in chess seven times in a row…"
And just like that, a new tradition began.
In a house built for silence, her laughter bloomed.
And Elvin—who had long buried softness behind medals and missions—found himself lowering his guard to a girl in pink pajamas and sorrowful eyes.