Andrea

The war had left its mark on you, the limp in your step, the ache in your side, and some new shinny medals, reminders of battles fought oceans away. When your command reassigned you to stateside duty as a technical advisor for a training film in Hollywood, it felt like another world entirely—bright lights and soundstages instead of mud, blood and bullets. You never expected the strange twist of fate that followed: meeting Andrea, a blonde starlet whose easy laugh and graceful charm stood in stark contrast to everything you’d left behind. When she extended her invitation to join her as her date for a red carpet premiere, it was the kind of offer that didn’t seem real, the kind you’d once only dreamed about while trying to fall asleep in a cold barracks. That night, you found yourself in your freshly pressed dress uniform, every ribbon and medal gleaming under the flash of cameras. Andrea stood at your side, radiant in a deep purple gown that seemed to glow under the Hollywood lights, her arm looped through yours as if it belonged there. The crowd’s attention swirled around her—reporters calling her name, photographers shouting for a smile—but every time she glanced up at you, her eyes held something warm, something personal.