In the dimly lit room, I sat on the edge of the bed, trying to figure out why he had summoned me this time. It didn't take any special skill to realize—he wanted to lecture me. The only question was what exactly had reached his ears—what had I done that caught his attention?
And yet, all I wanted was to sleep. I didn't want an argument, I didn't want unnecessary words. But he had always been the kind of person who enjoyed setting others straight, and he especially liked doing it with me.
When he finally spoke, it wasn't what I had expected.
—What's bothering you?
I flinched. That question hit me harder than any reprimand or scolding could have. It must have shown on my face because, after a brief pause, he added in a quieter voice:
—Tell me. I can feel something is tearing you apart inside.
Something tensed within me as his words reached me. My thoughts scattered, and a familiar tightness settled in my chest. This question… This question couldn't be real. People only asked such things out of politeness, out of habit, with a shallow kind of concern. Like when they say, "How are you?" But he didn't ask it that way.
And that paralyzed me.
—Don't overthink it now. — His voice was calm but firm. — It's just a simple question. What's bothering you?
Defiantly, I jumped to my feet.
—Why shouldn't I overthink? That's what my brain is for, isn't it? No one tells me when or what I can think about!
He didn't say a word. He just looked into my eyes, took two steps closer, and did something I never expected.
He hugged me.
His hand rested gently on my chest, right above my heart.
I froze. But I didn't pull away.
It felt as if every emotion I had buried suddenly wanted to rise to the surface. As if the pain trapped in my chest was finally breaking free. For a moment, I stood there motionless, trying to suppress that suffocating tightness that had been growing inside me for weeks—maybe even months. But when his breath touched my neck, something inside me finally gave in.
My tears started to fall.
At first, just one or two trickled down my face, but soon they came faster, deeper—like acid burning through the walls of my soul, releasing everything I had tried to keep locked away.
He didn't say anything. He just held me.
And I cried into his shoulder.
I don't know how much time passed. Minutes? Hours? All I knew was that with every tear that fell, my chest felt just a little lighter. As if he truly understood what I was going through. I didn't have to explain. I didn't have to tell him anything. He was simply there.
His hand slid up to the back of my neck, and my fingers instinctively tangled in his hair. The movement was natural, unthinking. It just happened. And then…
He kissed me.
It was the second time, yet it felt like the first. Not rushed, not clumsy—real. Deep, certain, yet inexplicably gentle. His lips pressed against mine, our tongues slowly intertwining, and I had no idea what was happening between us.
I didn't want to define it. I didn't want to label whatever this was.
I just wanted to feel it.
And when we finally lay beside each other on the bed, this time with his arms wrapped around me, I felt, for the first time in my life, that someone was exactly where I needed them to be, exactly when I needed them the most.
When I opened my eyes in the morning, an inexplicable warmth spread through me. It was the same feeling as coming home after a long, exhausting day—when everything finally falls into place. Deep in my heart, I had always known how much I hated waking up alone. And now, after such a long time, I wasn't alone. This realization struck me even harder.
He was here. Holding me just as he had when we fell asleep. His breathing was steady, his arms wrapped around me as if, even in his sleep, he instinctively wanted to keep me safe.
I was just beginning to lose myself in the comfort of that moment when a sudden, loud knocking shattered it.
— "General, may I come in?" — an impatient voice called from outside the door.
I was about to jump up and disappear into the bathroom before they could enter, but before I could move, he—still half-asleep, slightly disheveled, his eyes barely open—simply murmured:
— "Come in."
I froze. Of course. Why would he care that I was here?
The door opened, and a man in dark clothing stepped inside—followed by an arrogant woman. She scanned us with a slow, indulgent glance before smirking.
— "Why am I not surprised?" — she remarked mockingly, lazily brushing a strand of hair from her face. — "Good morning to this, too."
I met her gaze for a long moment, then turned to leave the room without a word.
— "No need to go," she called after me. "This concerns you as well."
I stopped.
— "The convoy is leaving soon," she continued. "We just didn't understand why you weren't at the gates on time. We were missing the General, but now it all makes sense."
She spoke as if I were some lowly servant, and her condescending tone irritated me so much that I didn't even bother to respond. I just nodded curtly, turned on my heel, and disappeared into the bathroom.
The cold water against my face helped clear my mind a little, but it didn't dampen my good mood. I tied my hair into a loose bun at the nape of my neck—a habit I always had when I felt cheerful.
I was still wearing a loose white shirt and jeans when I returned. The General was getting dressed.
And then, I saw his upper body.
Needless to say, I forgot to breathe for a moment. The perfect muscles, the effortless movements—it was like watching a painting come to life. He slipped a simple black shirt over his head, then turned to me.
— "Good morning," I murmured.
— "Good morning," he replied, his voice slightly hoarse.
I was about to leave and request a uniform from the base when he caught my arm.
— "No need to change," he said, as if reading my thoughts. His voice was calm, unusually soft. "Don't be embarrassed. Don't worry about what they think outside. You look beautiful as you are."
For a moment, I didn't know what to say. I felt a slight rush of warmth from his sudden compliment—until something else caught my attention.
— "Besides, you don't need protective gear just to cook," he added casually, as if this were the most natural thing in the world.
I blinked slowly.
— "Cooking?"
As a child, I had loved to cook, but since I had been here—for months, almost a year—I hadn't even fried an egg.
The General continued getting ready as if nothing were out of the ordinary.
— "Michael will tell you what menu to prepare," he said simply.
And then it clicked.
Ah… of course. The culprit had been found.
Michael. Who else could have come up with this? I would have a few words for him when I saw him.
Still, I was getting curious. This meeting—or was it more of a gathering? Based on the attire, it seemed more like a casual event than an official one. My thoughts drifted, and before I could stop myself, I glanced at him again. The blonde hair, the deep ocean-blue eyes… and that black shirt that…
I pushed the thoughts aside as he turned to me with that familiar, icy gaze. But now, there was something else in it. Something calmer. Almost gentle.
I followed him outside, and soon, we arrived at the convoy. As we got into the vehicle, I stared at the landscape passing by. We were heading toward the human city. To that small, isolated hillside. To the place where…
To the place where I had once sung out every sorrow in my heart.
The small house stood there, silent. Dark-clothed figures surrounded it, and Michael was already waiting for us with a wide grin.
— "Hey, little girl!" — he called cheerfully. "Where's my Kung Fu Panda?"
— "Right here," I sighed. But as we got closer, I pressed my lips together.
Leaning in, I forced the sweetest smile onto my face and spoke in the softest voice:
— "Your little Kung Fu Panda is about to show you a right hook and a left hook if you don't explain immediately why I'm supposed to be cooking."
Michael tried to look serious, but I knew he was enjoying this.
— "You do realize," he said innocently, "that as a big, tough, black-clad soldier, you wouldn't have been allowed to stay inside, right? But if you're a sweet, adorable, charming—"
— "I still need to work on 'charming,'" I interrupted dryly.
Michael chuckled.
— "Then you'll be an adorable little chef. That way, you can stay inside."
— "So, when is the target arriving?" I asked as we walked toward the building.
— "In half an hour. Until then, your job is to prepare the ingredients and… you know, do all those little kitchen things women usually do."
I turned to him, blinking slowly.
— "Mhm. Sure. I know exactly what you mean."
— "You… don't, do you?"
— "Not a damn clue. But I'll figure it out."
And with that, we stepped inside.
When I found out that the guests would be at least half an hour late, I didn't know what to do with myself at first. I didn't want to start the kitchen preparations yet, so I looked around the house awkwardly, trying to make it feel a bit more homely. My gaze landed on an empty vase, and then beyond the window, I noticed the small rose garden in the backyard. The purity of the snow-white roses captivated me somehow, and since the others weren't particularly paying attention to me, I grabbed a pair of scissors, went outside, and cut two stems.
I had always loved flowers, and at that moment, it felt especially good to bring a bit of beauty into the cold atmosphere. I placed the two roses in a vase filled with water at the center of the table, hoping that it might at least slightly ease the tension. The others had already settled in, sitting expectantly in their chairs. The silence was finally broken by the general:
— Nice roses.
I straightened up proudly as Michael looked at me and added with a half-smile:
— Very nice, little girl. Would you bring a few more? There's just enough space for a few more stems.
— No, thank you — I replied quickly.
I wanted to say something else, but strangely, the ruler spoke instead of me:
— Two roses symbolize love and the dead. A tribute to the departed souls while also representing the eternity of love. The unity of an end and a rebirth.
I froze. This thought had always been close to me, as if it evoked a fragment of something I had believed my whole life. Just as I loved the white rose, I believed in this too. It was strange to hear it from someone else's mouth, but maybe I wasn't the only one who thought this way. The air changed for a moment, as if a deeper meaning had settled over the moment.
I didn't want to dwell on it further, so I turned toward the kitchen instead. It was time to begin the preparations.
As I took out the white dishes and started chopping the vegetables, a strange calmness washed over me. I enjoyed the way the fresh scent of tomatoes spread and how the vegetables crunched under the knife. I drizzled olive oil into the pan, and without realizing it, I moved as if I were a professional chef. My thoughts were still lingering on the previous night, and I didn't even notice Michael sitting quietly, talking with the general. However, one gaze remained fixed on me the entire time.
The ruler.
He observed me as if he were watching the world from behind a glass wall, yet his gaze pierced through every distance. I couldn't ignore it. When I turned toward him for a moment, I saw that his eyes seemed to recall an old memory. But before our gazes could truly lock, the hum of a car engine shattered the silence of the night.