In 2008, I was a young engineering officer on a reconstruction mission in a mountainous province of Afghanistan. After a fierce sandstorm, an old wall of the local mosque collapsed, revealing a small space inside. Amidst the rubble and dust, I found a little girl, about seven years old, trembling and clutching an old silver pocket watch.
The girl’s family had gone missing after the storm. I couldn’t leave her. After many complicated procedures, I brought the girl, whose name was Lena, back to the US and adopted her. That pocket watch was Lena’s most cherished possession, cleaned by her every day.
Fifteen years later, Lena was a talented architecture student, and I, a Major with a decade of service, was being honored at a gala in Washington D.C. Lena, wearing an elegant evening gown, had put the silver watch on a chain as a pendant, letting it rest on her collarbone.
While we were talking, a senior officer approached. It was Colonel Victor Harrington, a legend in the military, who had just returned from his final mission. He was known for being reserved and showing little emotion.
Lena gave a polite curtsy, and the moment she looked up, Colonel Harrington’s eyes locked onto the watch. His sharp eyes widened.
“Young lady… that watch,” his voice was deep and husky.
Lena was a little flustered, covering it with her hand. “Yes, Colonel. It belongs to me.”
“Is there any inscription inside?” he asked, stepping closer, his hand shaking.
Lena carefully opened the watch. Inside the lid was a small inscription in Dari: “Tình yêu của tôi, luôn là của em.” (My love, always yours.)
Seeing the inscription, Colonel Harrington stepped back, his solid shoulders suddenly drooping. He stared at me, then at Lena, and tears began to stream down his battle-hardened face.
“That’s the watch I gave my wife,” he whispered, his voice catching. “For decades, I thought she had… lost it in that sandstorm. We searched everywhere. It was the last gift I gave her before she went missing along with… our little daughter.”
He took Lena’s hand, looking at her with indescribable pain and hope. “It has a name, a small nickname I called her, engraved under the clasp. Do you know it?”
Lena, her eyes welling up with tears, whispered in English: “My Little Star.”
Colonel Harrington broke down, embracing Lena and me in a tight hug. His wife, who had passed away from illness after the storm, had hidden their daughter safely inside the collapsed wall. The silver watch was a testament to an everlasting love and a final sacrifice.
That fateful night, an orphaned girl found her biological father, a Colonel found his “Little Star,” and I, the Major who once thought I was just a guardian, became the bridge for a family that seemed lost forever.
