In Bristol, UK, this young man of about 35 years old always had a beautiful life with his wife.

It has been tales of love and grace.

All he feels for her is undiluted love, warmth and happiness.

Love so overpowering and genuine.

They do not have children yet.

But she is heavy with their first baby now.

When their child is born. He will love him, her, them with the same ferocity.

He has been so blessed, he smiled, she massages his neck and back at will.

He loves it.

Sometimes he lies awake, watching her sleep. she is gorgeous.

"I will guide and protect her with my life". He pledges.

Their marriage is now five years.
He got married to her when he was thirty years, she was twenty one years old at the time.

He had know her since he was twelve years old and she was three.

The British government made sure they were trained with equal skills even as they have nine years difference between them.

They are originally from Tehran, Iran.
During the Iraq-iran war;
“First Gulf War" or "Holy defence" The Persian rebelion: as called among the Iranians which began on 22nd of September 1980, the time Iraq invaded Iran.

At the height of it all.

This young boy of about 12 years old had ran away from being recruited to carry a bomb to detonate at the Jahan square.

This beautiful busy square full of innocent peoople going about their days work which was to provide for their daily needs.

He couldnt imagine the horror.

In his mind, he wants to make to get to some kind of safety, any safety, anything strong enough to protect him and get him out of this godforsaken place.

In his short life, all he ever knew was strife, struggles and hostilities.

His parents and his two other sisters were killed in cold blood, they were so sure that if they got rid of his entire family, he will be ready to join the movement and be a matyr.

His eyes had seen so much, such that could have made him ruthless,wicked amd mean. But then how does that make him different from the ones that rained down the terror on his land.

The kind of hell he had seen in his young life made him so shrewd, guarded and sad.

The war here is not fought with the grey swords, here there are no combining of swords with the dance, it is not those hand-to-hand combat moves for a ferocious battle.

No, not at all!

In Iran, they shoot everything that moves, young old or cripple.

Bombs & grenades are thrown at will.

Things are blows up

People are blown up

Place are shredded to pieces

Settlements are levelled.

This was the life he knew.

His late elder sisters were brilliant and so witty, he just couldn't understand thos kind of existence, such that cut life's so short before it's prime.

Sometime in school, he felt he could tell by looking at the faces of his friend, the ones that already is with the terrorist, ready to give their life to blow places up.

Their faces gave nothing away.

All while he ran, he dodged and docked away from flying bullets all above his head.

Shattered houses, maimed bodies and lifelessness in his front and behind him.

Bullets nearly touching him.

His clothes are torn in shreds.

It was a hopeless place, this land.

That was when he saw it.

No, he saw her.

A little bundle huddled up at one corner of the street.

Covered

Alive.

But shaking visibly.

Probably praying for a miracle

Or,

Waiting for the bullet to hit.

Then he went closer and lifted the ivory coloured hijab.

There she was, one of the most beautiful little human he had ever laid his eye upon.

She was holding her hands to both her ears, little hands trying to block the loud battle sounds away.

Eyes tightly shut.

Still shaking

She looked up at him

With the strangest of eyes

Blue and green little streams filled with brimming tears.

A tiny being of just about three years old.

Without much of a thought, he scooped her up and continued his mad run towards God knows where.

While they fled, several bullet escaped his ears by threads.

They hid under a tent like shed for some time,she asked for water.

He looked around. She does look patched.

He looked around the tent once again and saw some cartons of sealed bottled water, plastic bottles, easy luck.
He took one plastic bottle in a hurry, and opened it to quench her thirst.

That was when he noticed that she hand no shoes on her feet.

After a while, he wrapped her up in the him a and scooped her up once again, they started their run for their dear life.

His legs were tired, he arms ache now, his head was pounding in rhythm to the fast beating of his heart, but he couldn't stop running.

Too much is at stake.

He then came accross this tall white man who had two cameras hanging from his chest.

Though he was recording with his pocket camera.

He was heavily built, with blond hair, his eyes were hazel, and he looked tanned like he has spent so long in the sun.

The man stopped them and had asked him what he had in his arms.

"My little sister", he responded.

She is all I have.

Every one else is dead.

They killed them , all of of them, our dad, our mum and our elder sisters.

The reporter is a British citizen from Bristol.

He was really sad and empathic towards them, the little sister was still shaking and full of fear.

He can't possibly leave them now, knowing he could have helped them, they have survived this long and had made it this far.

He swung into action and taken them with him, they broke in to a mad run again, and this time, they head straight for the British embassy.

There, the young boy and his precious little sister were flown out of Iran, straight to the united Kingdom, Bristol to be precise.

Being that they are both minors.

They need full care and attention.

The British Government had provided for them in the form of a home with carers.

The photographer was made one of their guardians.

They also had social workers who come in every other day to check in on their well being.

They enrolled them in school.

They trained them in all ways children should be.

Their general well being was well handled.

With all privileges.

The nights were fitful for her.

She always had nightmares about her parents. She sees them at a distance calling unto her and her mum crying bitterly.

His own nights were full of insomnia and flash blacks of how he had escaped them, the men that already strapped on the bombs on his body.

How he had removed it half way and broke it to a mad run.
He head starting kind once again with all the thoughts about Iran and the Satanic War.

By the time he graduated from the university at age 22, having trained to be a surgeon.

He was already a skilled pianists, a Finanacial analyst and a guitarist.

He was also a good chef.

She was just 13 years old and in High school. Year 3.

The young boys in her school can not get over her looks.

She does look amazingly eastern, with beautiful eyes and a nose pointed yet rounded at the tip.

She didn't forget though, nothing skipped her.

She always tells him

"I remember", she says

"You carried me from the war, the death.The bad people bombing the whole place. You are my brother, but you are not only my brother, you are my angel, my saviour.You kept me alive."

"I do remember my dad and my mum.

They seem so distant now but I remember them.

I do.

When he became 25 years old, she was 16 years old.

She fights all his female friends, all.

He fights all his own male friends that as much as look at her.

They tell him, "she has got the most unusual eyes, one blue and the other green."

He ignores them, just angry that they even looked long enough to have noticed her amazing eyes.

She is breathtakingly beautiful.

It was real war for him to have or keep any of his girlfriends.

She messes up everything.

She will cause a rift that will finally lead to their breakup.

There were many more break ups.

It was all becuase she loved her brother genuinely.

She had always imagined him instead as her own husband, not just a boyfriend.

She couldn't see her life outside of him.

'All those stupid girls think they can come and take aways my jewel' she frowns.

When she was 20 years old, he was 29years old.

At this age, she was a computer guru.

She was also an excellent chef just like himself, she had bagged several skills too.

At this time , they both came to a conclusion that they will like to be together forever, more than siblings they agreed.

They took a trip to the embassy.

He finally told them their full story.

As he ran across the street of Iran on the faithful day they were rescued.

"I was fleeing from being used as a terrorist to bomb the Naqsh-e Jahan square".

"I only ran into the reporter who saved us, after I had first rescued my little sister from the streets of Iran where she was huddled up in a corner covered with an hijab".

"She is not my sister by blood,
But all we had was each other"

Their guardians were genuinely surprised at the full story about their rescue years ago.

They granted them permission to date and court each other openly if that is their wish as they are not related by blood.

It was a match made in heaven.

They already knew each other like the palm of their hands anyways.

They had always lived together as brother and sister.

This will just be a little dynamics change to become husband and wife.

All their friends couldn't believe it at first, they shocked most of them as they did live as siblings for many years.

Everything seem to make more sense now to some of his ex girlfriend.
I mean what kind sister is always at logger heads with her brother's fake friends and intimate friends.

So much seem clearer now.

Sometimes, their home country Iran flashes through her mind., that point when she unconsciously transports herself back into the mind of her child self.

Her parents were gunned down just some minutes before he rescued her.

She had gone in to an uncompleted building to uninate, while her mum shouts in for her to hurry up.

Then of a sudden, she didn't hear her voice anymore.

When she came out, she had seen both her parents on the ground, in a pool of their blood.

They were not moving, she couldn't believe her little eyes, she touched both of them for a while before she had walked forward a bit and then huddled down in the street corner in panic and despair waiting for the bullet to hit her.

The war in Iran ended on 20th August 1988, when Iran accepted the UN-brokered ceasefire.

Iraq wanted to replace Iran as the dominant Persian Gulf state, and was worried the 1979 Iranian revolution would lead Iraq's Shi'ite majority to rebel against the Ba'athist government.

Children in Iran suffer so much neglect and abuse.

Having lost their parents most of them eat for the dustbin and they don't get to go to school.

10,000 children die in Iran yearly.
Over 39,000 children are living in abject poverty.Child labour is a norm in Iran.

Back in Bristol, our wonderful couple had a baby boy.The atmosphere was that of pure joy and love.

They are both diplomats in the making.

The British government consider them not just their state children, but they consider them their wonderful gifts.

Having them both alive at all, married and now procreating in itself is enough grace.

THE END.

DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fiction and any resemblance with any persons, living or dead, or events, real or imagined, are purely coincidental.