Wars have a way of developing a country too. The different technologies and the alert atmosphere it creates is not done by any other natural havoc.

No matter the religion, it brings all nation together to fight the unknown, to fight the enemy, to fight the ugly future that is dawned upon them. It helps in broadening the medical filed, economy and sometimes it helps spread ideas too.

Wars create a sense of responsibility and people start to pray for the people staying in the border to keep their country men safe. It is a roller coaster of adventure where the outcomes are not assured.

Some countries even educate the kids about wars, especially how to hold a gun and to throw bombs.

They mostly help the kids to learn that it is just another day. Continuous exposure of the same, helps them in overcoming terror and the post traumatic stress that are doomed on them. Perhaps they give a different point of view to see life.

Or maybe that was what Jamal Khan thought when he raised his child in the war zone. Seeing his son, Amir take his mother's death maturely, had confirmed him that he had raised him right.

Usma Khan was the only female nurse in the soldier community when Jamal had joined the army. Their love was instant. All his wounds were cleaned by Usma and later his single life too. She had become the beacon of light for him and since she often stayed in the army, helping her country men, it wasn't difficult to feel the distant love.

Soon, they were married on the coldest winter by a military soldier who claimed to have received the online clergy certificate. The ceremony was short due to the snow storm and soon they were man and wife.

Their happy bubble only expanded when their son Amir was born. With a button nose and his father's dark eyes, he was the apple of everyone's eyes. All the soldiers looked at him as their own kid, making sure that he was looked after well.

Amir was treated as a soldier from the beginning. He was handed a loaded gun at this third birthday and was allowed to throw a bomb when he was six. And when he was eight, he had seen several of his men dead and his tears had dried up by then.

It was his ninth birthday when he was shaken up from his sleep. In the pitch darkness, he had heard his men groan in pain and the bullets rupturing through the tents.

There was a brutal war between the two neighboring countries. Jayavrindh and Cyberabadh. The gun shoots were high pitched, the missiles rocketed through the dark night colouring the sky. His mother had handed him a gun and before he could sit up straight, she was running out with her medical kit.

Amir knew nothing about wars except for the stories his father and his friends had fed him. Other people were bad and they had to be shot dead. That was the only thing he had concluded after all the talks.

With the gun in his hand, he was shaking - after all wasn't he a nine year old boy? He rubbed the sleep off of his face and held on to the gun tighter in his arms. Though he knew how to aim, and even when he could shoot the sack of ice spot on, he shivered.

With his nerves giving up on him, he found it difficult to hold on to the remaining courage he had in him.

He could already feel the pain in his men's voice and actions. A few he was close with didn't acknowledge him when they saw him. He tried to hide in the water drums, but then decided against it since his father had told him otherwise.

Trembling, he told himself that it was better if he ran to his mother. At least there, it was only wounded soldiers and he wouldn't have to use that gun his mother had handed to him. As he ran, hiding himself on the way, scared almost shitting his pants, he got hold of his mother.

Usma was tending the already wounded soldiers who had blood all over them. Her face was calm and collected. Perhaps that would help him get composed.

Amir looked either side of his way before crossing over. But just before he could get to her, Usma saw him. She called his name loud in the chaos that Amir halted in his place.

He didn't know what happened in the next few seconds, but within the next blink of an eye, the treating station was burnt into ashes. The nurses, staffs, the medicines everything was gone with one missile.

The missile had taken away something more important to him.

It had killed his mother.

As a nine year old, he was shattered. His loving mother who had told him stories when he slept, who had cradled him to her bosom when he said he was cold, who had wiped his eyes when he had accidentally killed a snow rabbit, the one who had given him words of encouragement - was gone in a flash.

That night he was spared with his Dad who had lost his one eye. No matter what, that night had penetrated his mind and soul. But he knew he couldn't show his fears to his father.

Jamal had thought he was brave to have faced such tragedy without crying over his dead mother's body. He thought his son was ready to face the cruel world outside. But little did he know that Amir was just a child yearning for his childhood, to play in the sun and to laugh loudly rather than hide in the snow when things went south.

Perhaps Amir's heart was hardened over the years now. It had been exactly three years since the incident, yet he woke up with nightmares that no one knew about.

Maybe all he needed was some company. Someone who understood him.

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