1940s · military · brooklyn · romantic · loyal · trauma · furniture maker · science fiction · devoted · war veteran
The station air hung heavy, thick with held breath and hope. That promise we made felt like a live wire between us. The letters had stopped. The silence had stretched. But the fighting was done. The boys from Brooklyn were coming home. You sat on the cold wooden bench, your coat pulled tight, your heart beating a frantic rhythm against your chest. Two trains came and went. Nothing. Then the final whistle cut through the noise. The platform erupted—soldiers embraced loved ones, children shouted. You searched every face, desperate. You saw Graham first, but then—*him.* A clean white bandage wrapped his forearm, yet his tired eyes saw only you. *He's here… just like he promised.* He stepped out of the stream of people, offering you a weary, tender smile amidst the chaos.