The announcement came on a Tuesday morning, carried on a voice too calm for the magnitude of the words.
"All personnel of Alpha Company, assemble for immediate briefing."
Ethan was mid-run when the sirens blared. He slid to a stop, exchanged a quick glance with the others, and sprinted toward the main training building. A knot formed deep in his stomach—tight, unspoken, instinctive.
This wasn't routine.
Inside, soldiers filed into formation, boots thudding against the concrete floor. Camila found Ethan and stood beside him, her jaw set, eyes sharp. She didn't speak, but he felt the question sitting behind her silence.
A commanding officer stepped forward.
"You've been selected for an overseas deployment," he announced. "This is not a drill. Departure in three weeks."
The room shifted.
Breaths were held.
Thoughts stopped mid-motion.
Ethan felt heat rush through his veins, followed by cold.
Deployment.
Real.
Dangerous.
Life-changing.
Camila inhaled softly beside him. Their eyes met, and Ethan saw a flicker of fear—fear for him, fear for the unknown—but also something steadier: trust.
He swallowed hard, grounding himself.
When the briefing ended and the room emptied out in a storm of tension, Camila touched Ethan's arm lightly.
"You okay?"
He lied with the ease of someone trying to keep others steady.
"Yeah."
"No, you're not," she said softly, stepping in front of him. "But it's okay to not be."
Ethan leaned against the wall, running a hand through his hair.
"I knew this was coming eventually," he admitted. "I just thought… I'd be more ready."
"You are ready," she said, voice gentle but firm. "You've been preparing for this since the day you enlisted."
He didn't answer.
Because readiness was one thing—leaving was another.
Leaving Camila.
Leaving the place that taught him discipline and strength.
Leaving without seeing Sofia.
Without knowing if fate still held space for them.
Camila watched him carefully, sensing the shift in his expression.
"You're thinking about her."
"Always."
She nodded slowly.
"Will you tell her? About deployment?"
"I… don't know." He exhaled shakily. "I don't want her to worry."
Camila frowned. "Ethan, she worries anyway. Silence doesn't protect someone you love—it just isolates them."
Her words struck deep.
He looked down at his hands—calloused from training, steady from discipline, but trembling now under the weight of uncertainty.
"What if I tell her," he said quietly, "and she drifts even further away?"
"What if you don't," Camila countered, "and she thinks you've drifted first?"
Ethan closed his eyes.
She was right.
But knowing didn't make it easier.
---
Across the ocean, Sofia felt the pressure of time pressing against her chest like invisible hands.
She was chopping herbs in the academy kitchen when a wave of exhaustion hit her so sharply she had to steady herself on the counter. The seasonal competition—a major event—was approaching, and stress levels were sky-high.
"You okay?" one of her classmates asked.
"I'm fine," she lied, smiling weakly.
But later in the locker room, alone, she sank onto the bench and pulled out her phone. Her fingers hovered over Ethan's name.
Three weeks since his last letter.
Ten days since she sent hers.
Each passing day, her heart tightened with an uneasy fear she couldn't explain.
She typed a message.
Just checking on you. Hope everything's alright.
She stared at it for a long moment, then pressed send.
Immediately, her pulse raced.
What if he didn't reply?
What if he was too busy?
What if the distance had quietly become a barrier neither of them admitted?
Then, unexpectedly, her phone buzzed.
Her breath caught.
It was Ethan.
He replied within a minute.
I'm good. Training's just been heavy. Miss hearing from you.
Sofia's shoulders sagged in relief. A warmth bloomed inside her—soft, hopeful, fragile.
She typed again.
I miss you too. Are you really okay? You sound tired.
This time, the reply came slower.
There's something I should tell you.
Her heart stopped.
What is it?
The typing dots appeared, disappeared, reappeared.
Finally:
I'm being deployed.
Sofia sat frozen, the message glowing on her screen. Her throat tightened as if the walls were closing around her.
She reread the words again and again.
Deployment.
Ethan.
Danger.
Distance multiplied by fear.
Her hands shook.
Immediately she typed:
Where? When? For how long?
His response came carefully, almost too steady.
Can't say where yet. But soon. Three weeks.
Sofia pressed a hand over her mouth, eyes burning.
Three weeks.
Three weeks until he left for the unknown.
Her pulse hammered painfully as she typed back.
I wish I could see you.
There it was.
Truth carved out of longing.
A wish that felt impossible.
This time Ethan took longer to reply.
Much longer.
She wondered if she'd said too much.
If she'd crossed a boundary they never defined.
Then her phone buzzed.
I wish that too. More than you know.
Her breath trembled. She stared at those words, feeling something inside her—the part she'd tried to bury beneath ambition—rise to the surface again.
She typed only two words.
I'm scared.
And Ethan replied:
So am I.
---
That night, Sofia stood on her balcony, the city glowing beneath her feet, the cold wind cutting through her sweater. She tried to be strong. Told herself she had chosen her path. Told herself Ethan had chosen his.
But when she pictured him wearing full gear…
when she imagined him leaving…
when she realized she might never see him again…
Her strength cracked.
She cried until her vision blurred.
Until stars faded into the darkness.
Until fear and love tangled so fiercely she couldn't tell one from the other.
Across the world, Ethan lay awake in his bunk, staring at the ceiling.
He wished he could hold her.
He wished he could tell her everything would be fine.
He wished he could pretend deployment didn't terrify him, too.
But he couldn't.
Instead, he whispered into the quiet:
"Sofia… please wait for me."
---
Camila found him early the next morning, sitting alone outside with a faraway look on his face.
"You told her?"
"Yes."
"And?"
"She's scared."
"Of losing you?"
He nodded slowly.
Camila sat beside him quietly, the morning chill settling around them.
"You're leaving soon," she said softly. "But before you do… talk to her properly. Not through letters. Not through messages."
Ethan looked at her.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean call her. Let her hear your voice. Let her decide what you are to each other. Don't leave with unfinished words."
Ethan breathed deeply, emotion tightening his chest.
"And Ethan," Camila added, her voice softer than ever, "when you talk to her… don't hold back this time."
He stared at her, gratitude and guilt flickering in his expression. But Camila shook her head before he could speak.
"We both know who your heart belongs to," she whispered. "I'm just helping you get there."
Ethan felt a sharp ache in his chest—but also clarity.
He would call Sofia.
He would tell her everything.
He wouldn't leave with silence between them.
The clock was ticking.
Three weeks would pass like sand slipping through fingers.
And somewhere between fear and fate, two hearts were racing toward a conversation that would determine the future neither had dared to name.