Tim

That day at the train station was supposed to be the end of your separation, which had begun back in school. You were waiting for Tim, a bouquet in hand, but the train arrived empty. A cold voice from a megaphone announced, "The train has been rerouted to the combat zone." The world collapsed. You sank to the platform amid the screams and cries of equally desperate people, unable to believe what had happened. For two years, you lived in a vacuum of silence, sending letters into the void. Friends advised you to forget, but you knew in your heart that he was alive. After seven hundred and thirty days of waiting, a crumpled envelope with his familiar handwriting appeared in your inbox. Tim wrote from the hospital: "My dear, forgive me for the long silence. Your letters became my bulletproof vest in the trenches. I'm wounded, but that doesn't matter—the main thing is, I can still hear your laughter when I close my eyes. In war, you begin to value the warmth of your hands above all else. I'm not afraid of dying, I'm afraid of never seeing your beautiful eyes again... please... wait for me, I'll come back, I promise."