Chapter 6

"Endless rain poured down on Boston's streets, shrouding the city in a misty gray. Raindrops covered the editorial office's windows like frozen tears. Georgiana turned her gaze from the window back to her computer screen. She had just finished editing the final segment of ""Aleppo in Flames,"" with the screen frozen on a close-up of an elderly Syrian woman standing before her bombed-out home—her clouded eyes reflecting the ruins of what was once her shelter.

""This is incredible!"" Amanda exclaimed, her voice brimming with barely contained excitement. ""This footage is absolutely priceless. Especially those before-and-after street scenes, and that interview with the old baker. You know what? I cried when I watched him describing how his bakery was destroyed.""

""And that evacuation footage,"" Sarah added, her eyes bright with focus, ""The tension and immediacy are breathtaking. Particularly the camera angles—they captured both the refugees' panic and the soldiers' professionalism. Georgiana, how did you manage to keep the camera so steady in those conditions? This is textbook war correspondence.""

Georgiana offered a faint smile. She hadn't told her colleagues that the most heart-stopping footage was from the moment she herself had nearly become a casualty of war. At that moment, her camera had been set to auto-record. The shakiness and chaos captured weren't artistic choices but the raw documentation of a brush with death.

""What makes this program so powerful is its authenticity,"" Laura turned from her adjacent desk to say, ""There's no artificial emotional manipulation in those shots, yet every frame breaks your heart. Especially when you interviewed that young man who lost his entire family—when he said 'I wish I had died in the bombing too,' that desperation..."" She couldn't continue.

The program's reception exceeded everyone's expectations. Unlike other reports that focused on analyzing military situations, ""Aleppo in Flames"" showed the devastating impact of war on civilian lives through ordinary people's perspectives. The hashtag #AleppoStories trended on Twitter for three consecutive days. Major media outlets picked up the story, and even the typically stringent New York Times wrote in their review: ""This documentary uses the most straightforward camera language to tell the most heart-wrenching story of war.""

The office's large screen continuously scrolled through praise from various sources. One viewer wrote on social media: ""After watching this documentary, I finally truly understand what war means. It's not about numbers in the news or victory and defeat in politicians' mouths—it's about ordinary people's shattered lives."" Another commented: ""These images kept me up all night, but this is exactly what we need to see.""

""Hey,"" Editor Thompson poked his head in, ""Just got word that 'Aleppo in Flames' has been nominated for Documentary of the Year. Well done, Parker. And Washington's paying attention too—heard people at the State Department have watched it.""

A cheer erupted in the office, but Georgiana felt strangely empty inside. These days, even with her career breakthrough, she felt something was missing. Perhaps it was the endless rain making her melancholy. Whenever she looked at the blurry rainy scene outside, she thought of that scorching afternoon in Aleppo, and those steel-gray eyes behind the bomb disposal mask.

""We should celebrate,"" she suddenly said, trying to shake off these thoughts, ""I'm treating everyone to lobster at the harbor restaurant. I heard they just got a fresh batch from Maine.""

Her colleagues' faces lit up with surprise. Though they worked closely together daily, private gatherings were rare. Everyone had their own social circles, heading in different directions after work. That evening, in the restaurant's private room, amid clinking glasses, the conversation quickly turned from work to life.

""Honestly, Boston's housing prices are insane,"" David remarked while cracking a lobster shell, ""That apartment my wife and I were looking at—the price went up a hundred thousand in just one month. At this rate, regular salary workers like us will have to move to the suburbs.""

""That's nothing,"" Jessica elegantly dabbed her lips with a napkin, wearing a specially chosen Chanel suit for the occasion, her diamond necklace catching the light. ""My father says Washington D.C.'s prices are truly shocking. But that's normal, considering it's where all the congressmen and senior officials live."" Her tone carried that innate sense of superiority.

As a congressman's daughter, Jessica seemed to always casually display her background. Every movement exuded carefully cultivated elegance, but beneath that elegance lurked an ever-present hint of arrogance.

""Oh, by the way, I attended a Capitol Hill dinner recently,"" Jessica continued, ""Met some military generals who specifically mentioned our station's Syria coverage."" She gave Georgiana a meaningful look. ""They said it was very moving, though perhaps lacking some professional expertise.""

""Speaking of which, Georgiana,"" Jessica suddenly turned to her, with barely concealed mockery in her voice, ""Didn't you major in History? It's quite impressive that you could produce such a news feature. I suppose History training is... unique in its way.""

""Yes,"" Georgiana replied earnestly, missing the sarcasm, ""Historical training taught me to focus on details and human elements. I believe the most important aspect of journalism isn't technique, but authentically documenting humanity.""

""Oh? Did you meet any 'special' people in Aleppo?"" Jessica asked suggestively, her voice teasing, ""I heard the U.S. Special Forces there are all elite of the elite."" This immediately prompted others to join in the teasing.

""Yeah, yeah,"" Laura chimed in, ""I remember seeing a particularly striking Special Forces soldier in that evacuation footage.""

Georgiana's fingers unconsciously reached for the chain in her pocket. Statistics say the probability of meeting a stranger and forming a deep impression is one in a million. In a war-torn foreign land, that probability becomes even more minuscule. Yet that encounter seemed like a carefully orchestrated coincidence of fate.

She still remembered that moment: the smoke-filled street, the bomb counting down beneath her feet, and then he appeared, like a redemptive angel emerging from hell. Those steel-gray eyes, the steadiness and strength they conveyed through the bomb disposal mask, that moment when he pulled her back from death's edge—all remained crystal clear in her memory.

Seeing Georgiana lost in thought, Jessica's face showed a satisfied smile, as if she'd discovered something interesting. But Georgiana didn't notice these subtle expressions; her thoughts had already drifted to that distant war zone. At this moment, was the man who once saved her life executing missions in some corner of a battlefield? Did the cross chain that had accidentally fallen into her hands miss its owner as much as she did?

Outside, the rain continued to fall, raindrops hitting the windows like some long-awaited call. At this noisy celebration, only Georgiana knew that her greatest gain wasn't this award-winning documentary, but rather that moment that would be eternally etched in her memory."