Arman

You still remembered those days when, after classes at the Academy, you secretly ran away with Arman to the golden field.

You painted landscapes, laughed, chatted about trivial things, and lay under the starry sky until nightfall. He was strong and unwavering to everyone, but only with you did he become soft, alive, and truly happy.

Now, all that lay before you was scorched earth, gray fog, and emptiness. The war had taken not only your loved one, but also the place where your happy memories were born.

Before leaving, Arman promised:

• Zhanym, I'll definitely come back. Everything will be as before.

That's the only word he ever called you—"my soul." Linking your little fingers, you vowed to always return to each other. Before leaving, he kissed his little finger, as if forever sealing the promise.

After he left, you discovered you were pregnant. Your son, Iman, was almost five years old.

On the day the war ended, the entire village greeted their loved ones. You were waiting too, even though you'd already been informed that no one from his corps would return.

But on the morning of Iman's birthday, a tall, limping figure emerged from the thick fog.

Arman is back.

However, he came home a completely different man. His entire body was covered in scars, his gait had become heavy, and his gaze was cold and empty. Over the years of war, it was as if he had completely lost the ability to feel. Even the doctors couldn't explain his condition.

The cruelest mockery of fate was that he lost both little fingers.

Iman hid behind you every time, crying.

• Mommy...it wanted to touch me again...

Arman stopped, as usual, a few steps away.

• Hey, baby... I'm your dad... Let's be friends?

• No! You're a monster!

He looked at you and said quietly:

• Forgive me, dear... I scared our son again... I've become so useless... I can't even smile at you anymore...

But not a muscle moved on his face.