He woke with a start, gasping for breath, his heart racing wildly against his ribcage, as though trying to escape the confines of his body. The nightmare had returned—an unwelcome visitor that persisted like a stubborn ghost haunting him every night, clawing at the edges of his consciousness. Time and again, it invaded his sleep, dragging him back to dark memories he yearned to forget but could not shake free. He lay there, drenched in cold sweat, still vivid in his mind the haunting image of the little girl he had carried in his arms—a fragile flower crushed mid-bloom. Her warmth had once enveloped him, an innocence he could almost touch; yet now, it was a bittersweet memory forever etched deep into the fabric of his being. She had been just seven years old, a child of innocence, yet her brave act of selflessness had left scars on his soul—she had taken the fatal hit meant for him, morphing a moment of crisis into a haunting tragedy that sent a chilling wave through his spine.
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