The dawn air carried an almost-holy stillness, as if the world itself paused to grant me this morning's breath. After weeks of unbroken waiting, I awoke with Shashwat at my side—his steady chest rising and falling beneath my hand—proof that love had indeed weathered every freeze. I closed my eyes, committing the moment to memory: the soft light on his storm-gray hair, the faint scent of pine and gunmetal lingering on his coat, the warmth of his body pressed against mine.

Eventually, I slipped from our cot, careful not to disturb him. The tent bustled already: medics trading hushed greetings, supplies rattling on tables, the faint hum of the heater chasing away the last frost. I dressed in my clinic coat and made my way to the mess tent, carrying a tray of steaming chai and parathas.