❝𝐓𝐨 𝐝𝐨 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐭𝐲, 𝐩𝐮𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐥 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐢𝐭.❞
At first glance, it might seem like a cliché, right? Maybe it is, but sometimes clichés are the best option when you're a h...
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June 1944 (Third Day of D-DAY)
The military camp lay in the midst of a clearing. Rows of tents stood in orderly lines, each marked with an identifying insignia. In the distance, the constant murmur of activity filled the air: the metallic clink of tools, the low hum of conversations, and occasionally, the unmistakable roar of planes overhead.
Amidst this bustle, the soft melody of an era appropriate song, "The White Cliffs of Dover" by Vera Lynn, drifted through the air from a nearby radio. The singer’s hopeful voice provided a poignant contrast to the harshness of the surroundings.
Valentina moved with efficiency and grace among the rows of cots within the medical tent. The soft afternoon light filtered through the canvas, creating an almost serene atmosphere despite the gravity of the circumstances. The wounded soldiers rested silently, some murmuring in their sleep, others observing the scene with expressions of pain, and a few with muted cries.
With firm and skilled hands, Valentina cleaned and bandaged a deep wound on a young soldier's leg. Her movements were precise, a result of her rigorous training.
Upon completing her task, she straightened up and offered a few words of encouragement to the soldier before heading to her desk, a small but orderly space in the corner of the tent. The table was laden with medical supplies, reports, and correspondence, each item in its place, reflecting her meticulous nature.
As she sat down, Valentina noticed a plain and discreet envelope she hadn't seen before. Curious, she picked it up and examined the neat and orderly handwriting on the front. There was no sender, only her name written with care. She broke the seal delicately and unfolded the letter, her eyes quickly scanning the opening lines.
◞┈┈┈⋆┈┈⊰✩⊱┈┈⋆┈┈┈◟ "You know? When I see you, my zygomatic muscles contract involuntarily." ◞┈┈┈⋆┈┈⊰✩⊱┈┈⋆┈┈┈◟
"Zygomatic?" she whispered to herself, confused. To her recollection, she had never heard the term before. ¿What the hell?
"If your zygomatic muscles keep contracting involuntarily, I recommend applying a warm compress." Whisper.
Not wanting to dwell on the matter, and thinking it was a prank from one of her colleagues, she tucked the note into her drawer.
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