Poland, 1942

The snow fell in a hush over Warsaw, muting the world in a blanket of cold white silence. Buildings wore the scars of bombings, their hollowed faces like ghosts, staring out over a city that breathed in whispers. Curfews darkened the streets early, and even whispers of rebellion traveled only in secret.

Inside the narrow kitchen of a crumbling tenement, Zofia Nowak lit the last stub of a candle. She moved carefully, always mindful of shadows on the walls, always listening for the boots.

The radio sat in the cupboard—illegal, but necessary.

It had been two weeks since she’d heard Jakub’s voice.

Two weeks since he had left with the others to sabotage a Nazi supply train south of Radom. Two weeks since his last coded message, sent through a smuggled scrap of paper tucked into the lining of a bread loaf.

"All goes as planned. Tell my mother the garden still blooms. I’m only a call away."

Only a call away.

A promise whispered between them so many times it had become a prayer. In those words, were secrets. Hope. Love. And defiance.

She gripped the locket beneath her blouse—his photograph inside, faded but stubborn. Jakub had kissed her once, the night before he left, beneath the ruined chapel where no one dared to look. It was hurried. Desperate. Unfinished.

Zofia had spent the following nights waiting. Worry curling in her stomach like smoke. There were rumors. Captures. Hangings. Names she recognized and others she didn’t.

And still—no word from Jakub.

Until tonight.

Three quiet knocks.

Her blood froze.

Three knocks again—then one, then two.

The pattern.

She flung open the door.

He stood there filthy, bloodied, gaunt, but alive. Snow dusted his dark curls, and his greatcoat was torn at the sleeve. His eyes, sunken but fierce, found hers.

He didn’t speak. Neither did she.

Zofia threw her arms around him, trembling. He buried his face in her shoulder, as though anchoring himself to something real.

"I thought..." she began, but the words faltered.

"I know," he murmured into her hair. “They raided our safehouse. Two of us made it out. I couldn’t send word—not without risking everyone.”

She pulled back, searching his face. “But you came.”

“I told you, didn’t I?” he said softly. “I’m only a call away.”

Tears slipped down her cheeks. “There was no way to call.”

Jakub smiled faintly. “And yet, here I am.”

Outside, the wind howled. The war would rage on. Tomorrow might tear them apart again.

But tonight, in the dim flicker of a dying candle, two souls found their way back to each other. And for one quiet moment in a brutal world, love prevailed.