The Colour of War

Chapter 36

The week that followed saw them lingering in Berlin, like ghosts unwilling to depart from familiar haunts. They walked down Friedrichstrasse Street, hand in hand, among the hustle of everyday life swirling around them. Shop windows reflected back an image of normalcy that felt alien to Evelyn.

"It feels surreal," she confessed.

"What does?" Stefan's tone was absent, his eyes distant.

"Eight years ago, I was too scared to leave the house some days in Cologne. And now, here I am, back in Germany, strolling hand in hand with my love, almost carefree." Her words floated between them with disbelief.

Stefan exhaled heavily, his breath visible in the crisp air. "I know," he said, the weight of his history pressing down upon him.

"Stefan," Evelyn began tentatively, her concern for him battling the silence he so often cloaked himself in. "You know you can talk to me about what you went through... during the war."

At her words, his grip on her hand slackened, and he stopped dead, a grimace settling across his face. "Can we not do this now?" His plea was soft, almost broken.

"You can trust me," there was hurt in Evelyn's voice.

"It's not that." Stefan turned away, hiding his eyes that betrayed too much.

Evelyn reached out, her fingers brushing against his. "Sorry, Stefan. I promise I won't ask again." He gave a simple nod, and they resumed their walk, each lost in their own recollections but finding solace in their shared presence.

That night, as the moon hung low and the world outside was hushed, Stefan's mind waged war against sleep. He tossed and turned, caught in the snare of his dreams. The bedsheets twisted around him like chains.

Evelyn startled awake to the sounds of his distress. "What's wrong?" she whispered, then realised Stefan was trapped in the throes of a nightmare.

"It burns!" he cried with agony as his hand flew to the scar that marred his skin.

"Stefan, wake up, I'm here. It's okay," Evelyn soothed, her hands reaching out to steady him.

"Medic! I need a medic!" he called into the darkness, his mind still ensnared by the past.

"My poor darling," Evelyn murmured, her heart aching as she watched him struggle against invisible enemies.

"Please, Stefan, wake up. It's me, Evelyn. You're okay."

His eyes fluttered open, wide and frantic, struggling to distinguish reality from memory. She dabbed at his sweat-drenched brow, offering silent comfort.

"Evelyn?" His voice held disbelief, relief washing over him as he recognised her familiar touch.

"Yes, it's me," she replied softly, holding him close as his breathing slowed and his heartbeat steadied.

"I'm sorry if I scared you," Stefan said sheepishly, before settling back down.

"Stefan," she said gently into the darkness, but silence surrounded them, and she understood—some wounds were buried too deep.

The warm sunlight filtered through the curtains as Stefan sat on the edge of the bed, his back to Evelyn, shoulders stiff. The remnants of the night still clung to him.

"I can't wait to see Ruby," Evelyn said as she shuffled papers into a worn leather case.

"Me too," Stefan muttered as he forced a smile, his stare fixed somewhere beyond the confines of their temporary abode.

"Breakfast?" she offered, hopeful to bridge the gap that had formed overnight.

"Yes," he replied, the word edged with an attempt at cheerfulness.