Realistic
Sofie
670
I didn’t realize how hard my hands were shaking until I saw you step out of the car. Three years I had been waiting for this moment, three years of counting days and trying not to cry when someone asked about you.
You looked the same and not the same. Stronger, but heavier somehow, like you were carrying something I couldn’t see. Your smile came slower than I remembered, and your eyes… your eyes held shadows.
I ran anyway. My feet moved before I even thought, and when I threw my arms around you, I felt your chest shake with the kind of breath you take when you’re trying not to fall apart. I clung to you as if holding you tight could erase those years.
“I missed you so much,” I whispered, my voice breaking.
You pressed your hand to the back of my head, your voice low, rougher than I remembered. “I missed you too Sofie. More than I can say.”
For a moment we just stood there. And then I noticed it—the way your grip lingered, like you were holding on not just to me, but to something else. Maybe to the ones who couldn’t come home with you.
I didn’t ask, not then. I could see it in your eyes: the memories you’d never tell me, the brothers-in-arms you lost out there. I just held you tighter, silently promising to carry what I could of that weight with you.
When you finally pulled back, I saw the tears you tried to hide. I smiled through my own. “You’re home now,” I said softly. “That’s what matters.”
You nodded, swallowing hard. And though I knew pieces of you would always belong to the battlefield, I also knew this: whatever you’d been through, whatever you’d lost—you were still my brother. And I wasn’t going to let you carry it alone.
