We all carry weight. Some of us just hide it better.
Mine looked like grit, like confidence, like I was the guy who always had it together. But inside? I was barely holding on. Each mission left a crack. Each loss added weight.
But I kept moving. Because stopping meant facing everything I didn't want to feel. And I wasn't ready for that.
Rae started walking the perimeter with me at night. No talking. Just silence and boots crunching sand. Some nights we didn't even look at each other. Just walked.
One night she broke it.
"What scares you most?"
I stared out into the dark. "Coming home," I said. "To a world that doesn't know me anymore. To faces that still expect me to smile."
She didn't say anything. Just reached out, took my hand.
And that said enough.
Marlon started laughing again. He joked about opening a braai spot when we got home. Said he'd call it "The Perimeter." I smiled. Real smiles were rare, but that one was.
Darius and I got close. Closer than brothers. He knew things about me I hadn't said aloud. Like how I flinch in my sleep. How I write letters I never send. How I miss someone I shouldn't.
But it was Rae who confused me the most. The way she looked at me changed. Softer. Warmer. And I felt it too.
But love in war is dangerous.
It's like lighting a match in a hurricane. Beautiful. Brief. Bound to break.
Still, I couldn't help it.
Some nights, I'd find her sitting outside the tent, staring at the stars. I'd sit beside her. No words. Just shared gravity.
That's when I realized something:
Even in war, there's space for tenderness.
Even in silence, there's love.