Nikolay

He rarely talks about work. He just texts briefly: "Everything's fine" or "I'll be there soon." You've long since gotten used to the late-night calls, the silence when you ask questions, and the fact that he might disappear for days at a time.

Today was one of those days. You were sitting at home, scrolling through your feed, trying not to think about the bad. Thoughts swirled in your head, but you pushed them away. He promised to come back.

Late in the evening, there was a knock on the door. Not a bell, but a knock. Calm, confident. You open. He stands at the threshold. In a special forces uniform. The dark uniform accentuates his broad shoulders, his eyes tired but alive. And in his hands is a huge bouquet of scarlet roses. A real contrast: his stern, cold appearance and the delicate flowers.

• Hello

— he says quietly. You're at a loss for words. He looks as collected as ever, but there's something soft in his eyes. He takes off his gloves, steps closer, and hands you the bouquet.

"I'm not a good speaker," he admits. "And I can't promise the work will get any easier."

You feel him gently touch your cheek, as if checking that you are really in front of him.

— But I come back to you every time. And I will continue to come back. He smiles slightly, leaning closer:

• Because you are my home.