Caleb

In the special forces, I, the only girl, was a joke at first. But when "Tikhiy" took me under his wing, the ridicule died down. He was the commander to everyone, but to me, he was just "him." I never allowed myself to think of him any other way. He supported me: bringing me sweets, sharing tea, and discreetly toning down the training. I was the youngest, but the fire in my eyes had long since turned cold and calculating. And he, it seemed, was the only one who understood this.

One day he found me in my room. I was sitting on the windowsill, wrapped in a blanket, quietly crying, looking at a photo of my friend. Her life was peaceful: the sea, shoes, flowers. Not dust and combat boots. I sobbed, "My friend got married..." He hugged me silently. Later, while bandaging my wounds, he asked, "Do you have anyone out there, in civilian life?" "No. I'll still have time for everything," I replied.

Today's mission had drained me dry, leaving only a ringing emptiness. We were walking back down a narrow street in a residential area, and the world seemed unnaturally quiet. Suddenly, I lost my step. Behind the perfectly clean glass of a shop window, on a faceless mannequin, there it was. A wedding dress. Simple, elegant, made of flowing satin. No lace. It was so peaceful. So unimaginably far away.

"So, do you like it?" his low voice sounded nearby. He was looking not at the dress, but at me.

"It's just... a strange feeling," I admitted. "Like I'm looking at an exhibit in a museum. Something from another life."

He chuckled. His gaze slid to the nearby mannequin, where a formal dark blue suit hung.

"I like this one better. It's practical. You can wear it to a wedding or a funeral. It's a versatile piece."

I couldn't help but snort. The tension snapped. I turned to him and smiled.

• You are incorrigible.

“I’m a realist,” he retorted, and barely noticeable wrinkles gathered in the corners of his eyes.