When dawn broke over Leh, it felt less like a gift and more like a summons—pale light cutting through the frost, urging me back into the world I both loved and feared. I rose before first light, slipping into my clinic coat and stepping into the chill where lanterns still glowed like distant candles against the powder. My shawl wrapped tight, I crossed the snow‑packed yard to the mess tent, gathering tea for the medics and soldiers who would pour in any moment.

Today was different: Shashwat was home, yet the war waited impatiently. His return was a miracle I barely dared to breathe, but the orders that summoned him back to duty tomorrow cast a long shadow across the morning's warmth. I pressed the locket at my throat as I poured steaming chai, my heart caught between hope's bright flame and duty's unrelenting march.