Dawn light filtered through the frosted windows of the Leh clinic tent, painting every speck of dust in gold. I arrived carrying my worn leather satchel—filled with journals, case notes, and the little wooden box of relics I used to ground my patients. Today was meant to be routine: I'd lead three back‑to‑back sessions on coping strategies for soldiers returning to active duty. Instead, I found myself haunted by the echo of Captain Khanna's admission of guilt from yesterday, and I knew I had to carve out space for one final, unhurried conversation with him before he left on his next assignment.

He lay on Cot 3, propped by two pillows, his surgical dressing wrapped tightly around his shoulder. The bruise at his temple had faded to a dull purple, but his eyes still carried the weight of sleepless nights. When he saw me enter, his face softened into a tentative smile.