A week passed… then two… then three. Anthony still hadn't recovered from the loss — he spoke less, reacted less, and most of the time just sat there, lost in his own thoughts.
It was only in the middle of the fourth week that we were finally allowed to bring him back.
"I'm… I'm fine, guys," he said quietly, avoiding eye contact. "It's just… it was too much for me."
We didn't say anything at first — we just hugged him.
"We're together in this… don't worry, brother."
He nodded slightly.
"So what now?" William asked, looking at both of us.
I took a breath and told Anthony everything my dad had said — about staying in India, about the warnings… about Dr. Malhotra in Chennai. My voice broke in between, but I forced myself to finish.
"So he wants us to visit Dr. Malhotra?" Anthony asked.
"Yeah…" I replied, holding back whatever was left.
World War 3 — that's what people had started calling the Norway–Russia conflict now. It had spread beyond control, pulling in more than ten countries.
Norway was gone… completely wiped out, and its allies, along with countries affected by the nuclear fallout, had declared war on Russia and France.
But India remained out of it.
Safe… at least for now.
There were shortages — gas, petroleum — but nothing compared to what the rest of the world was facing, so we didn't think much about the war anymore.
We went back to the hotel room, ordered food, and for the first time… we ate in silence. No jokes, no teasing — just the sound of plates and occasional movement.
"Did you… did you eat there, Anth?" William asked, trying to bring things back to normal.
Anthony didn't look up.
"No."
That was it... he continued eating.
The Anthony we knew… wasn't fully back yet.
William's parents, on the other hand, had been trying everything to get him home. The grids had stabilized two days ago, but transport was still restricted — any route from India to the US crossed through war zones, and it wasn't safe at all.
But William's father wasn't someone who gave up easily.
He had connections — powerful ones. Politicians, military officials… even people close to the president. And after weeks of trying, he finally managed to arrange a military carrier that could safely bring us back.
William didn't know any of this, not until two days before departure, when his parents called him and told him everything.
Told him they were coming to take him home themselves.
For the first time in weeks— we felt something different.
Relief.
We hugged each other… laughed… even jumped around like we used to.
And for a brief moment…
Anthony smiled the way he used to.
The plane arrived in an open ground — far from any city, isolated and silent. We had to walk for hours to reach it, and by the time we got there, none of us had the energy left to say anything.
The moment the door opened, William's mom ran out and hugged him tightly. It was a beautiful moment… the kind you feel happy watching, yet something about it hurt at the same time.
Anthony's eyes filled with tears, and I gently placed my hand on his shoulder, trying to comfort him without saying anything.
She then stepped toward us.
"Anthony, I'm sorry for your loss. I hope you're doing okay, son," she said softly, pulling him into a hug and holding him for a moment longer than expected.
Then she turned to me.
"Justin… I really didn't expect that from your dad *sigh* but it isn't your fault."
I didn't understand what she meant, and for a second I thought of asking, but something about the moment stopped me.
"Anyway… I hope you find your way back soon," she added, before gesturing William and Anthony toward the plane.
They didn't move.
"Come on, we don't have all day," she said again, this time with a slight impatience in her voice.
"Mom… we're not going without Justin," William said, looking directly at her.
From inside the plane, his father noticed they hadn't moved and stepped outside.
"William, are you serious? Get inside the plane right now," he said, grabbing his arm firmly.
William pulled his hand away.
His father paused, then took a breath and spoke again, much calmer this time.
"Look… we can only take two of you. Just understand the situation."
William didn't respond immediately. He looked down, thinking — and that small hesitation was enough to set Anthony off.
"What are you thinking?" Anthony said, his voice rising.
"We can't leave Justin like that… and I'm not going anywhere either."
I looked at him.
He looked back.
And for a brief moment… I smiled.
"Let him go, Anthony," I said quietly. "We can't force him to stay here and struggle with us."
Anthony turned toward me instantly, disbelief and anger clear on his face.
"Let him go? Who was the one who said we stay together? That our fear doesn't matter as long as we're together? Was that me… or was that you, Justin? Who said that?"
I didn't have an answer. William still hadn't lifted his head.
His father pulled his arm again, and this time William didn't resist. He slowly began walking toward the plane.
Anthony didn't move.
"Fine… you stay here if you want," his mom said coldly. "But my son is coming with me."
She turned and walked back.
We stood there in silence, watching William walk away. He turned back once — just once — and in that moment, it felt like he was trying to say something he couldn't put into words.
I knew he wasn't wrong.
He couldn't just stay with us like that.
But Anthony didn't see it that way.
He grabbed my hand and started walking in the opposite direction, but my eyes didn't leave William. I kept looking until he disappeared inside the plane.
The engines started, the sound cutting through the empty ground as the aircraft slowly lifted into the sky.
Anthony didn't look back.
He didn't show me his face, but I knew what he was hiding.
And in that moment, without anything dramatic or loud… something between us quietly broke, leaving behind a space that none of us could fill anymore.
After everything that had happened, one thought refused to leave me.
This didn't start with the war… or the system… or even us.
It started the moment I received those forty years.
And somewhere deep inside, I knew—
nothing about it was accidental.