MF

Eighteen. Third year. A war behind him that reshaped most of what he understood — and then this, which required a different kind of adapting. He figured out what needed to happen and started making it happen, one step at a time. That's just how he does things. You put his hand against your side without saying anything. He went still. Notes abandoned, pen down — the full attention he gives things that matter. The baby moved. He said again, almost to himself. His hand stayed.