Ethan stared at his phone for a long time after training ended, the sky overhead turning deep gold as evening settled over the base.
His hands were steady in combat.
Steady under pressure.
Steady when he jumped from helicopters during drills.
But right now, as he held the phone…
they trembled.
Camila stood a few feet away, pretending to check her gear but glancing at him every few seconds.
"You're not going to explode," she said finally. "It's just a call."
"It's not just a call," he muttered.
"No," she agreed softly, "it isn't."
Ethan swallowed hard, took in a deep breath, and walked away from the noise of the base—past the barracks, past the training field, toward the quiet, isolated benches near the fence line where the horizon stretched endlessly.
He sat down.
He stared at Sofia's contact.
"My Home."
He closed his eyes for one second.
Then he pressed the call button.
---
The phone rang on Sofia's nightstand in the middle of her tiny apartment. She stepped out of the shower, hair damp, wearing a large sweater, exhausted from another long day of prep for the academy competition.
The moment she saw Ethan's name, her heart stopped.
He never called.
They always messaged or wrote letters.
A call meant something real, something urgent, something heavy.
Her fingers shook as she answered.
"Ethan?"
The sound of her voice—quiet, breathless—hit him like a punch to the chest. For a moment, he couldn't speak.
Then:
"Hey."
Soft.
Low.
Full of emotions he couldn't mask.
Sofia sank onto her couch, clutching the phone to her ear.
"I didn't think you would call," she whispered.
"I should have called sooner," he admitted. "I just… didn't want to disrupt your life."
"You're not a disruption," she said quickly—too quickly. "You never were."
Ethan closed his eyes. "I'm sorry if it ever felt that way."
Silence stretched between them—not empty, but full of things unsaid, feelings held back for too long.
Finally, Sofia spoke, her voice trembling:
"Ethan… are you scared?"
He hesitated for a fraction of a second.
"Yes."
The honesty hit her harder than anything else.
"I'm scared too," she admitted, pressing a hand to her chest. "But not just because of the deployment. I'm scared because… I don't know what we are anymore."
Her voice cracked on the last word.
Ethan's breath stilled.
"You still think about that?" he asked softly.
"I never stopped."
Those words sliced through him.
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, phone pressed tightly to his ear.
"Sofia… I need you to know something."
She held her breath.
"When you left for the academy… I didn't hold anything against you. I was proud. I am proud."
Her throat tightened. "Then why does it feel like we drifted apart?"
"Because I didn't want to hold you back. I thought if I stayed too close, too involved… you'd feel guilty for choosing your dream."
"I didn't choose my dream instead of you," she whispered. "I chose it because of you. You're the one who pushed me to believe I could be more."
Ethan's chest constricted painfully.
"Sofia…"
"What if we had tried harder?" she asked suddenly, voice trembling with emotion she could no longer hold back. "What if we talked more? What if we didn't let the distance make choices for us?"
He felt his heart break open at her words.
"Then," Ethan said softly, "we wouldn't be having this call."
"And what does that mean?"
"It means we'd already be together."
Sofia froze.
Her breath hitched. "You still want that?"
"With everything I am."
Tears spilled down her cheeks before she could stop them.
"You can't say things like that," she whispered. "Not when you're about to leave. Not when everything feels so fragile."
"That's exactly why I'm saying them."
She covered her mouth as a sob escaped.
Ethan's voice grew steadier—stronger.
"I don't know what's going to happen out there. But I know what I feel. I know who I'm fighting to come back to."
Her heart cracked wide open.
"You're coming back to me?" she whispered.
"Yes."
Sofia pressed the phone harder against her ear, as if she could hold him through the device.
"I want you to come home," she cried softly. "I want you to be safe. I want—"
She stopped, breath shaking.
"What do you want, Sofia?" Ethan asked gently.
Her voice broke.
"You."
The word hung between them like a vow.
Ethan closed his eyes, overwhelmed.
"I want you too," he murmured. "I don't care how much distance there is. I don't care how long it takes."
Sofia wiped her cheeks, trying to compose herself but failing.
"I thought you were forgetting me," she whispered.
"I couldn't forget you if I tried."
Silence filled with everything they'd been too afraid to say.
Then Ethan added, voice barely above a whisper:
"I love you, Sofia."
She gasped—quiet, sharp, heartfelt.
It was the first time he'd said it out loud.
The first time it was real and undeniable.
Tears streamed down her face again.
"I love you too," she whispered back.
A breath caught in Ethan's throat.
And for a moment, deployment didn't exist.
Distance didn't exist.
Only two hearts that had found each other again.
Finally, Sofia asked:
"Will you call me again before you leave?"
Ethan exhaled slowly, deeply.
"I'll call as much as I can."
"And when you're gone?"
"I'll write. Every chance I get."
Sofia smiled through tears.
"And when you come back?" she whispered.
"When I come back," Ethan said, voice steady with promise, "I'm coming straight to you."
Sofia pressed her forehead against her knees, overwhelmed.
"Don't break that promise."
"I won't."
They stayed on the phone long after the tears had dried—talking about simple things, small things, memories, hopes, fears.
And as the night deepened around them, something between them shifted from uncertainty into fragile, trembling certainty.
They were not done.
Not even close.
And fate was far from finished with them.