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"I taught him. Nothing too deep, just basic computer science. Binary code, simple programming concepts." His smile widened. "Drew diagrams in the dirt with a stick. He picked it up so fast it was scary. By the end of my deployment, he could write basic code."

"That's beautiful."

"Here's the best part." Code's thumb kept up that gentle rhythm on my hand. "Three years later, I got a message through back channels. Fahim had made it to Kabul. He got into a university program for computer science. Full scholarship. The message said, 'Thank you for teaching me the power of knowledge.’”

My throat tightened. "Code..."

His eyes met mine. “It reminded me why I wanted to serve my country in the first place. Yes, it was to uphold the Constitution. To protect and defend my nation, but it was also to help our allies and teach them how to defend themselves.”

We sat there in the dim light, hands linked, both of us holding memories that mattered more than fame or medals or recognition.

"We're not so different," I said quietly. "You teaching Fahim. Me teaching Maya. Both of us wanting to pass something on."

"Maybe that's why this feels right. You and me." His voice dropped. "We see the same things."

"Yeah. We do."

"Thank you," he whispered. "For seeing me. The real me."

"You're welcome." I squeezed his hand one more time. "Now sleep. I want more stories tomorrow."

"Tomorrow," he agreed, his eyes already drifting closed.

I watched him until his breathing evened out. Within minutes, he was asleep. Really asleep, not just resting his eyes. His face relaxed, the lines of tension smoothing away.

I carefully extracted my hand and retreated to my bedroom.

I fell asleep before my head hit the pillow, and didn't wake once.