The fungus had leached onto his body. He was declared dead, no response, whatsoever. Another deat , another day that went by. Tons of body rushed in on stretchers ,some bleeding, some burned, some with crushed chests on ventilators.

But only few survived in odds, others dead on spot.

The stains of dried blood has masked my gloves not knowing whose it was. In the backyard, not so far away from the hospital corpses are left pilled up to rot under the sun .

The cabin was silent when I returned. Not a presence of life could be felt, only a lamp from which a dim amber light emitted.

I gave my eyes a quick run across the room. Files and reports were left open on the desk. The window was open and through it chilly wind kept flowing inside. I gave my coat a hitch.

It seemed like the curtains were dancing with the wind. I leaned against my desk.

My body wouldn't dare to make any slightest movement . Shoulders were heavy, ears were numb and I couldn't bear to hear another single word.

It caught my eyesight again. The wooden box was still there. Thoughts came clashing down. Where would he be? In what condition? Would he be alive or not? Maybe he already has a family of his own, a loving wife and children to play with. They would be greeting him with warm smiles after work.

He would have forgotten about me by this time. Eight years. Am I a fool to still be waiting for him. Yes, I am.

Sighing, I took a sip from the tea . The nurse called out "Dr. Kenta, a body has arrived and is severely damaged."

I rushed down to operating room. The soldier was laid on his back. His face was crushed, his lips, teeth and nose merged into one another. The ears were bleeding, and leg was cut below knees. His flesh was half burned and uniform was torn. There was no trace of who he was. His eyes continue to move up and down. They informed me that he had survived a blast and an assassination that occurred in north-west.

This was the first in my life that I had ever dealt with such a damaged person. He was on ventilators, lungs weren't pushing out air. "Pass me the scapel", the surgery took about five hours. His condition wasn't looking any good even after the surgery but I couldn't care less about it, for I had greater plan. Vomiting, yes that was the greater plan.

A nurse brought me out. l ran for the washroom and started puking my guts out. That was one therapy inducing surgery, even a mere look at that soldier's condition was enough to make anyone's stomach turn. I turned the tap's nozzle.The cold water gushed down my warm hands. I splashed water against my face and then went outside to get some fresh air. The moon hung with stars up in the sky. Night was calm and clear. Lighting up a cigarette, I blew out rings of smoke.

When I finally returned to the cabin, it felt eerily strange. I felt heavier. There was unknown presence. "Maybe I am too stressed. Relax, don't overthink Kenta." I murmured to myself.

The nearby locality had many robberies and murders. Few weeks ago, an entire family had been murdered and everthing in the house had been whipped off. The cops were yet to find the thief.

I slowly rose from my desk, took a step back and grabbed a knife from the drawer. Slowly paced towards the door. In a blink of an eye there was knife under my throat, I froze.

My heart raced with fear. I did not know how to react, my hands had turned cold.

"Am I really going to die? Is this how my life ends?"

From the periphery of my vision I saw a tall man. He had covered his face with an old tattered cloth. My eyes were caught by his eyes. I glanced at him, his eyes were still. His eyes were pierceing directly into my soul. There was a slight twitch in his expression.

The man asked in a low subtle voice, "Are you Kenta?" The voice felt familiar.

Is this seriously how I am going to die? I thought to myself. What a awful way to die. Tomorrow, I will on the headlines of the newspaper, "A handsome doctor was found dead in his own cabin." But it would be so sad that I won't be able to read it. They won't even put up a proper funeral for me.

"Oh lord, I don't have the whole day for this. Do you prefer to die. Tell me are you Kenta or not?"

" No, no please don't kill me. I- I- I am Kenta.", my words shuttered. His presence was threatening and I did not want shortcut to death.

"Turn around." he commanded.

My legs were frozen with fear. I tightly grabbed my knife ready to strike.

" I said turn around." His voice, now slightly softened.

I turned around with head down, staring at his lower half, squinted my eyes, steadied my hand and with all the strength, striked at him.

There was a gush. A sound of something being sliced apart. I had not aimed at anything. I was just trying to defend myself. He fell down and grunted in pain. My eyes were forced to open because of his screams and grunts. His thighs were sliced up, the floor bathed in crimson red. This sparked fight or flight situation in me but something told me to stay. Moonlight from the window glimmered onto his body. Noticing, his mask had come off, I wanted to take a glance at the intruder's face. I was becoming curious of who wanted to kill me and what his motive was. And I looked. That was probably one of the best decision I ever took. I fell on my knees. The shock was overflowing. The cold air had started to burn up.

"After all this years....."

I breathed heavily, water had started clouding my eyes aand then broke into long awaited tears.

He was infront of me. Tsuyoshi Kato. The reason of my misery and faith. 8 years of yearning and my thirst was able to finally quench. He was quivering in pain and stared at me with the same begging eyes. That gaze and the summer of 1926 suddenly revived like a film tape.