goin back

The first rays of dawn filtered through the window, casting a golden glow across the room. Sunny stirred awake, his body instinctively rising even before his mind fully caught up. Military discipline had long ingrained the habit of waking early. He sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes before swinging his legs over the side of the bed. The wooden floor felt cool beneath his feet.

With a quiet sigh, he pushed himself up and made his way to the bathroom. The familiar routine grounded him—turning on the faucet, splashing cold water on his face to chase away the lingering drowsiness. He watched as droplets dripped from his chin, swirling down the drain. For a brief moment, he let his fingers rest on the edges of the sink, inhaling deeply. Today was the day. Back to the frontline.

He grabbed his toothbrush and squeezed out a line of toothpaste, the minty scent sharp in the morning air. As he brushed, his thoughts drifted to the past week. A rare break, time spent with his mother. She had tried to hide it, but he could see the worry in her eyes, the way her hands lingered on his shoulders a little too long when she hugged him.

She never said it aloud, but he knew what she feared. She had already lost a husband to war—losing a son would break her.

His jaw tightened as he rinsed his mouth. His father, had been a soldier to the core. Tough, strict, a man who had expected nothing less than perfection. Sunny had never felt close to him, never saw him as the kind, supportive figure others imagined when they spoke of the late sergeant. To the world, his father was a hero. To Sunny, he was just a hard man who had left a heavier burden behind when he died.

His mother had never recovered. The weight of her grief had settled into her bones, hollowing her out in ways that even time couldn't fix.

He wiped his face with a towel before turning to the uniform neatly folded on the chair. He picked it up with practiced ease, sliding into the well-worn fabric. The crisp folds, the faint scent of detergent mixed with gunpowder—it was comforting in its own way.

As he fastened the last button, his gaze lifted to the mirror. A stranger might not have noticed, but he did. He looked different. Not as worn down as before. The week of rest had worked wonders, softening the exhaustion that had weighed on his features. Lieutenant Lee had been right.

"You need this break, soldier. Take it. You'll thank me later."

Sunny exhaled, shaking his head slightly. He still wasn't sure about "thanking" anyone for time away from duty, but he had to admit—it had helped.

Grabbing his duffel bag, he slung it over his shoulder, feeling its familiar weight settle against his back. His eyes flicked toward the framed photograph by the bedside table. His father, standing tall in his uniform, eyes sharp, shoulders squared.

A hero. At least, that's what people said.

Sunny looked away and walked out the door.

Got it.

With his duffel bag slung over his shoulder, Sunny stepped out of his room, the familiar scent of home lingering in the air—a mix of freshly brewed coffee and the faint, ever-present smell of old wood. The house was quiet, save for the distant clatter of dishes coming from the kitchen.

As he descended the short hallway leading to the living room, his eyes landed on Alex, his cousin, lounging comfortably on the sofa.

Hearing footsteps, Alex glanced up, a small grin forming on his face. "Morning, soldier," he greeted, stretching lazily before sitting upright. His sharp eyes flicked downward to Sunny's feet. "So, did you like how I polished the boots?"

Sunny followed his gaze, lifting one foot slightly. The boots gleamed under the soft glow of the morning light, the leather smooth and perfectly polished. Not a single smudge or speck of dust in sight.

He gave a slight nod of approval. "Looks good," he said simply, shifting his weight slightly to test the fit.

Alex smirked. "That's all I get? A 'looks good'?" He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Come on, I spent at least an hour making sure those things looked parade-ready."

Sunny exhaled through his nose, a faint trace of amusement in his eyes. "Thanks," he said, this time with a bit more weight behind the word.

Alex leaned back, satisfied. "Now that's more like it."

Before Sunny could respond, the sound of footsteps drew his attention toward the kitchen. His mother emerged, her face calm but carrying the same quiet worry she had worn all week. In her hands, she held a small bag—plain, a little worn at the edges, but neatly packed.

She walked over, stopping just in front of him. "This is what I could gather on short notice," she said, her voice steady, though her fingers clutched the bag a little tighter before handing it over.

Sunny took it without a word, feeling the familiar weight of small essentials—probably some extra food, a few medical supplies, maybe even a charm or two tucked in by her. He knew she couldn't do much to protect him, but this was her way of trying.

She looked up at him then, her eyes searching his face, memorizing every detail as if afraid it would be the last time.

Sunny shifted slightly, adjusting the strap of his duffel bag. He wasn't good at moments like this.

Behind him, Alex remained silent, watching the exchange with an expression unreadable but Knowing.

His mother lingered for a moment, hesitating before reaching into the pocket of her apron. When she pulled her hand out, something small and metallic gleamed in her palm.

She extended it toward him—a cross, silver in color, with a finely etched silhouette of Jesus on it.

Sunny blinked, momentarily caught off guard. His mother had always been religious, but in a different way. She was more of a Pentecostal believer, the kind who prayed in hushed tones before dawn and spoke of faith as something alive and personal. Crosses like these, though? That was more of a Catholic thing, wasn't it?

He looked at her, eyebrows slightly raised. "Didn't think you'd have one of these."

His mother's lips pressed together in a small, knowing smile. "Faith takes different shapes, Sunny. Just take it."

He hesitated, then reached out and took the cross, feeling the cold metal press into his palm. It was heavier than he expected.

His mother's expression softened, but there was an unmistakable urgency in her gaze. "Do everything to protect yourself, Sunny," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Something about the way she said it made his chest tighten.

He gave a short nod, tucking the cross into his pocket without another word.

By the time he stepped onto the street, the sun had fully risen, casting long shadows between the buildings. The air was crisp, carrying the distant hum of morning activity—the murmur of shopkeepers setting up for the day, the occasional honk of a car further down the road.

He had said his goodbyes to his mother and Alex, both of them standing by the doorway as he left. His mother had tried to keep herself composed, but he could see it—the sadness, the quiet fear she wouldn't voice. Alex had played it off casually, throwing him a lazy salute and telling him not to do anything stupid.

Sunny adjusted his duffel bag, rolling his shoulders as he picked up his pace. He didn't have time to dwell on emotions right now. If he didn't hurry, he'd miss the taxi to the train station.

His boots hit the pavement in steady, purposeful strides. The familiar weight of his uniform, the slight jingle of his belt buckle with each step—it was all routine. It felt like slipping back into the life he knew best.

He tightened his grip on the strap of his bag, eyes fixed ahead.