The storm arrived like an intruder, uninvited and merciless. Thick, dark clouds swallowed the sky, drowning the last traces of daylight. The wind carried the scent of damp earth, its cold fingers slipping through the cracks of old homes. Thunder roared, shaking the land as if the heavens themselves grieved.
At the edge of a lonely valley, nestled among towering trees, stood an ancient house, battered by time. Its oak walls, once sturdy, had begun to sag, the red bricks weathered and chipped. Ivy curled around its exterior, clinging like an old regret, and the roof, heavy with moisture, seemed ready to collapse under the weight of its years.
Inside the house, the air was thick with the scent of aged wood, damp linen, and the faint remnants of burning wax. Shadows flickered on the cracked walls, cast by the dim light of a single candle. A frail figure lay on a narrow bed, his body barely more than skin and bone. His white hair clung to his damp scalp, and deep wrinkles marred his weary face. A jagged scar stretched across his forehead, a permanent mark of the past, a reminder of the day the townsfolk called him a coward.
Zain Miller had not looked into a mirror in decades. The last time he had, the reflection had shown him something he could not bear to see.
Now, he stared out the small window, his cloudy eyes lost in the storm beyond. The rain leaked through a crack in the glass, dripping onto the worn-out bedsheet, but he didn't react. His mind was elsewhere...trapped in memories.
Five figures stood in silence around his bed. Three women, their eyes red-rimmed with grief, and two young men, their jaws clenched as they tried to swallow their sorrow. They were not his blood, but they were his legacy.
Decades ago, in the chaos of war, Zain had made a promise, a promise to his closest friend, Veer. "If the war takes me, protect my family," Veer had said, his voice steady even as gunfire echoed in the distance. Zain had sworn to honor those words.
But when the war ended, it was Zain who returned, not Veer. The town had mourned their own losses, and when their grief turned to anger, they directed it at Zain. They called him a deserter, a man who had fled while others had died. A coward.
Yet, despite their scorn, he had taken in Veer's orphaned children, raising them as his own. He bore their hatred in silence, never defending himself, never explaining. The truth was a burden he carried alone.
And now, that burden was coming to an end.
His breath was shallow, each inhale a struggle. Memories flickered behind his tired eyes, his parents laughing at a city fair, the warmth of their hands before fate tore them away. The battlefield, Veer's outstretched hand as he fell. The children, frightened and lost, looking to him for guidance when he himself had none.
The pain in his chest deepened, cold and relentless. His fingers twitched against the damp sheet as he forced a whisper past his cracked lips.
"Am I going to die a coward?"
His voice was barely audible, but Max, the youngest of Veer's sons, heard him. The boy, no the man he had become, knelt beside the bed, his hand trembling as he grasped Zain's frail fingers.
"No, Father," Max choked out. "No, you're not a coward. You raised us, you fed us, you gave up everything for us. You're the kindest, bravest man we know. We owe everything to you."
Zain's lips twitched. A smile, fragile as dying embers, flickered across his face.
"They see me as a father," he thought, a warmth spreading through the cracks of his heart.
But even as he clung to their love, the past clawed at him. The battlefield returned Veer, bloodied and breathless, urging him to run. "Live for them," he had said before the bullet silenced him.
Zain had obeyed. He had run.
Another sharp pain lanced through his chest. His vision blurred, his body growing heavier. He gasped, struggling against the pull of death, and through the rain-smeared window, he saw something, or someone.
A tall figure stood in the storm, his silhouette rigid against the curtain of rain. His clothes were drenched, but his stance was unwavering. Red eyes, dark and piercing, shone like embers in the night.
Zain's breath hitched. The world around him faded, and the storm's howl became a distant murmur.
"It's time to erase your past, my child," the stranger's voice echoed, clear despite the storm.
Zain wanted to respond, but his body no longer obeyed him. His limbs grew numb, his heartbeat a faint whisper.
He had failed them all.
That thought haunted him as the darkness closed in.
The stranger watched in silence as Zain's chest rose one last time, then fell, never to rise again.
Max pressed a shaking hand over his father's chest, feeling the absence of life beneath his palm. The weight of it crushed him, a grief too vast to contain.
The room remained still. The candle's flame flickered. The storm raged on, indifferent to the passing of a soul.
Zain Miller died haunted by regret. But even in his final moments, something lingered...an impossible hope, planted like a seed in his fading heart.
---
Two Days Later
The rain had softened, the storm retreating into distant skies. Beneath the old oak tree, the same tree where Zain had once taught the children to climb, a grave had been dug.
The family stood in silence, the weight of loss pressing upon them. The wooden coffin lay ready, the scent of damp earth thick in the air.
Max took a deep breath, his voice unsteady as he spoke. "Father thought he was a coward. That he ran from responsibility. But he gave us everything...he raised us, protected us. Even in his final moments, he showed us that love can outshine the darkest regrets."
The others nodded, their grief silent yet profound.
As they lowered the coffin into the ground, Max whispered, "Though we bury him today, our hearts still hope that, somehow, somewhere, he finally found the courage he spent his life searching for."
The earth swallowed the coffin, and the family stood together, bound by sorrow and love.
The world outside remained indifferent, the town unchanged.
But in their hearts, Zain Miller was not a coward.
He was the kindest, bravest father they had ever known.
And his story was far from over.