🇨🇺||Cuba||🇨🇺

That was the only world Cuba had ever known: Orders, Training, Discipline. For as long as she could remember, her life had been marked by the rigid rhythm of the military environment, as if every step she took was measured by someone else. There was no room for mistakes… or weakness. And certainly no room for rest.

That's why, whenever he managed to steal a few minutes each day, he would disappear, without warning, without escorts. Just... he would leave; the lake was his only refuge. He always sat on the same rock; the marks from the ash he left when he smoked were there. As soon as he was back in that spot, he sat as usual on the same stone, gazing at the lake, while he lit his cigarette... His eyes wandered across the surface of the lake, following the small ripples that broke the stillness of the water. For a moment, the world seemed to lose its weight. But, of course... peace never lasted... They were footsteps, subtle, soft, but they were there... Cuba. He looked up, staring toward where the footsteps were coming from, his shoulders tensed, the cigarette dangling between his fingers. Had one of the soldiers followed him? That's all he needed!

"Who goes there? Show yourself now."

His voice came out firm, authoritative, without a trace of the weariness that had enveloped him moments before. It was the voice of a leader, of someone accustomed to being obeyed without question. But there was something more beneath it, irritation, and a deep exhaustion he no longer bothered to hide. Smoke escaped his lips in a slow exhalation as he kept his gaze fixed on the shadow between the trees. His fingers closed barely around the cigarette, as if that small gesture were the only thing keeping him anchored to that moment of calm that had just been shattered. Because deep down… he wasn't just upset about being interrupted. He was upset because that place, his only place, no longer belonged to him, not even for a few minutes, and that… exhausted him more than any war.