General and I

WORDS WE DONT SAY

The night after the dinner carried an unusual stillness.

The air was soft and cool, the moon hanging like a silver coin above the trees, brushing the edges of the camp in pale light. The laughter from the dinner had long faded, replaced by the distant hum of insects and the rhythmic rustle of leaves.

Leah couldn’t sleep.

She had tossed and turned for hours, her mind circling the same thought why did his words hurt so much? She’d been scolded before, criticized even, but never had something stung so deeply. Maybe it was because it came from him from Damien.

With a quiet sigh, she sat up, slipped into her jacket, and tiptoed out of her quarters. She knew where her feet were leading her. That same quiet corner near the lake the one she’d found weeks ago when she cried after her first confrontation with him. It had become her safe place.

The grass was cold beneath her boots, the faint rippling of the water echoing in her chest like a heartbeat. She sat at the edge, hugging her knees, staring at the reflection of the moon dancing across the surface.

She didn’t notice him at first but he had noticed her.

From a distance, Damien stood still, his tall frame blending into the shadows. He hadn’t planned to find her here tonight, though somehow, he wasn’t surprised. Something about this spot this silence always drew both of them in.

He told himself he was just taking a walk, trying to clear his mind after another long day. But as soon as he saw the small figure sitting by the lake, he knew the truth: he was looking for her.

Leah looked up when she heard the sound of approaching footsteps. Her heart stuttered when she saw him.

“General,” she said quietly, quickly rising to her feet.

Damien shook his head gently.

“Leah Harper ,” he said, his voice softer than usual.

She hesitated, unsure whether to sit back down or leave. The air between them carried a strange electricity unspoken words, buried tension, unacknowledged pull.

Damien stepped closer until he was standing beside her, his hands tucked into his pockets. For a while, neither of them said a word. The only sound was the faint whisper of the lake lapping against the shore.

“You come here often,” he finally said, glancing at her.

“It’s quiet,” she replied simply. “It helps me think.”

“Think about what?”

“Everything,” she said with a small, dry laugh. “Life. The camp. My sister. You.”

The last word slipped out before she could stop it. Her cheeks burned immediately, and she quickly looked away.

Damien’s expression didn’t change, but inside, something shifted.

Me?” he asked, his tone unreadable.

Leah nodded, still avoiding his gaze.

I keep wondering why what you said hurt so much. I know you were right i hesitated during the drill. But when you spoke, it felt like I’d failed completely, like I wasn’t worth your time.”

Her voice trembled slightly. “And I shouldn’t care that much. You’re my superior. But still… it hurt.”

For a moment, Damien didn’t move. He simply stared at her at the way her face was half-lit by moonlight, her eyes glistening with restrained emotion.

Inside, he was fighting a war with himself. He wanted to reach out, to touch her cheek, to tell her she hadn’t failed at all. But the part of him that wore the uniform the man who lived by rules and walls wouldn’t allow it.

He took a slow breath, his voice low.

“Leah… I don’t mean to hurt you. You did what your heart told you to. You helped your teammate that’s noble. But you need to understand… in my world, emotions can cost lives. I shouldn’t have shouted.”

She turned to him, eyes searching his face.

“Then why do you still look angry every time you see me?”

That question caught him off guard.

He exhaled, almost smiling.

“Because you make it impossible to stay detached.”

Leah blinked, unsure if she heard right. Her heart thudded painfully against her ribs.

Damien turned his gaze toward the water, the reflection of the moon shimmering in his eyes.

“Every time I think I’ve got you figured out, you do something that throws me off balance. You’re not like the others, Leah. You don’t just follow orders you feel them. You question them. That’s rare.”

Leah’s lips parted slightly. His tone was no longer cold, but gentle almost fond.

“You shouldn’t say things like that,” she whispered. “People will misunderstand.”

He looked at her then really looked. The silence between them grew heavy, thick with everything unspoken. His fingers twitched at his side, aching to touch her, to close the small distance between them.

But he didn’t.

He took a slow step back, as though grounding himself again.

“Listen,” he said quietly, “whenever something weighs you down… when it gets too much… you can come talk to me,anytime we’re here not wearing uniforms,Not as your general.”

He hesitated, his voice softening further.

“As a friend.”

Her chest tightened. That one word friend carried a strange warmth and sting at the same time.

“Thank you,” she said softly.

Damien nodded once and turned to leave, but halfway through his stride, he stopped and looked back.

“And Leah…”

“Yes?”

“Next time you doubt yourself remember this. Compassion doesn’t make you weak. It makes you human.”

He left her standing there, bathed in moonlight, her heart racing in rhythm with the soft breeze that brushed her skin.

When Leah returned to her quarters, Natasha was already asleep. The room was dimly lit by the small lamp near her bed.

She sat down quietly and reached for the worn-out notebook she kept under her pillow the one Jenah had given her before she left home.

“When you feel too much,” Jenah had said, “don’t bottle it in. Write it down.”

Leah opened to a blank page, the pen trembling slightly in her hand.

She began to write.

Every detail. Every feeling. The sound of his voice, the way he said her name, the way his eyes softened even when his words were hard.

She wrote about the way her heart raced when he stood too close, and how she hated that she wanted him to. She wrote about her confusion, her guilt, and her strange, growing affection for the one man she wasn’t supposed to feel anything for.

By the time she closed the notebook, her hands were shaking. She placed it back beneath her pillow, whispered a soft goodnight to herself, and finally drifted to sleep.

The next morning, the camp was awake before sunrise. The faint chill of dawn swept through the air as the recruits lined up for their drills. The sharp sound of a whistle cut through the mist, and commands followed one after another.

Leah stood in formation, her body moving on instinct, but her thoughts were still tangled in last night’s conversation. She hadn’t expected him to be so… human. So kind. And yet, this morning, he looked like nothing had happened.

Damien stood in front of them, stern as ever.

His voice was crisp, devoid of warmth, his instructions direct and cold.

“You think yesterday was effort?” he barked. “Try harder. Move faster. Discipline is what separates soldiers from civilians!”

His words bit through the air, sharp as glass. Leah flinched slightly, realizing that this was him trying to build a wall again.

Zach, standing a few feet away, watched Damien with faint amusement.

“You’re awfully hard on that one,” he murmured, as the recruits jogged past.

“She needs it,” Damien said stiffly.

“Or maybe you do,” Zach replied, smirking.

Damien shot him a glare, but Zach only chuckled, shaking his head.

The rest of the morning went by in sweat and exhaustion. Leah pushed herself harder than ever, determined not to disappoint him again but every time his voice thundered across the field, she couldn’t help feeling that something in it wasn’t anger, but restraint.

By the end of the training, her legs trembled, her uniform clung to her skin, and yet, when she finally glanced up and caught his gaze, he looked away too quickly.

Maybe he was right. Maybe distance was safer.

But deep down, she knew something had shifted forever between them.