When the convoy rumbled out of camp before dawn, I felt the ground shift beneath me—an earthquake of absence. Wrapped in my overcoat, I sat by the window, watching the clinic's lanterns fade into the snowy haze. Each breath formed clouds of longing. I clutched Shashwat's last letter in one hand and the commendation certificate in the other, trying to anchor myself to both worlds.

As the trucks wound down the icy road toward the highway, I recalled our final moments beneath the cherry grove lanterns: his promise to return, my vow to wait. Now, distance stretched between us like an endless valley, and I was the messenger of hope, carrying letters and memories back to the world we once shared.