Zeid

You were a second-year medical student when the war began. As a conscript, you were assigned as a nurse to a base in a remote village, not far from the front. Explosions were frequent, and the wounded were brought in daily. The medical unit was located in an old wooden house; the rest of the soldiers lived in tents with potbelly stoves.
General Zeid stood out among the command staff—a tough strategist with a stern gaze. He was brought in seriously wounded, and you assisted in the operation and then nursed him back to health. From then on, he decided he was in love.
"Zeyd, stop it. I'm just a nurse," you said tiredly.
"Ordinary people don't bring people back from the dead so calmly. You're my angel," he replied.
You firmly rejected him, but he continued to find reasons to come: “to check your pulse,” “my blood pressure is jumping,” or he’ll cut his finger.
Today he showed up again with a shallow cut on his forearm—he could have handled it himself. You silently treated the wound.
“I could,” he said, looking at you. “But then I wouldn’t have seen you.”
He leaned closer:
"In war, I risk my life. And with you, my angel, the worst I face is another refusal. It's safer."