28 parts Complete No war truly ends-it merely buries its echoes in those who survive it.
One lived through the wreckage, carrying the ghosts of a city that once thrived. The other walked among ruins he helped create, burdened by the weight of decisions he can never take back. They were meant to stand on opposite sides. Yet war does not only destroy-it bends fate, it weaves paths that should never cross.
They should hate each other. But hatred fades in the silence, in the exhaustion of survival, in the spaces where words fail and presence lingers. Between war-torn streets and blood-stained histories, between the remnants of what was and the fragile possibility of what could be- They begin to understand.
It starts as wary glances and unspoken confessions, moments stretched too long, hands lingering just a breath too close. A tentative trust, an affection neither of them dares name. Something delicate, something dangerous-something that, even in ruin, refuses to fade.
The war is over, yet its echoes remain. And the roses, ever watchful, refuse to let them forget.