The end of November was approaching. This year, winter had taken hold much earlier than usual, pushing autumn to the background. Small snowflakes danced in the air of the clear evening sky, and the cold wind brushed against the soldier's face with frosty air. A mask of severity, left by the fires of countless battles, froze on his still youthful face. War spared no one and concealed youthful naivety and openness behind a heavy veil of courage and the burden of responsibility. “Letters! Letters for the soldiers!” - came the voice of the military postman. This postman always brought letters to his unit, and many already knew him as a good comrade. The soldiers gathered around the postman in a cluster, eager to receive news from their loved ones, but the soldier did not rush to join them; he had no one left, and no one was there to write him letters. The war had taken everyone away, leaving a huge void in his soul. The soldier remained sitting by the fire, watching the flames illuminate the late evening. After distributing all the letters, the postman approached the soldier. “Today I have a letter for you too,” - said the postman, extending a sealed envelope to the soldier. The fire illuminated the yellowish paper and the signature written in neat calligraphic handwriting: “Letter to a Soldier.” With trembling hands, the soldier unfolded the letter and immersed himself in reading: “Dear Soldier, I am writing to you from afar and hope that you are doing well. Christmas is coming soon, and Mica, my older brother, has already gone to town to buy a Christmas tree; he recently returned from the army on a week's leave and is already bragging about his exploits at the front. My mom and I can only marvel at his stories. But Mica has always been quite the braggart, and I've even started to miss this trait of his. But not too much :) I hope that you will also celebrate Christmas by the New Year's tree adorned with beautiful ornaments. Have you bought your tree yet? I feel a little sad because I always miss summer during winter; I can't wait to go to the river with my friends and swim, and then sunbathe under the bright sun. Although I'm not a very good swimmer, Mica is still teaching me. By the way, can you swim? Mica promised that when our side wins and the war is over, we will often go to the river, and he will teach me to swim better than all the boys in our village. I often tell him that I want to be like him and go with him to defend our homeland, but my mom says I'm still too young. You know, what I really want to say is thank you for continuing to fight and protect us; thank you that tonight I can sleep peacefully, and tomorrow I can go to school; thank you that I can set up a Christmas tree and celebrate Christmas with my family; thank you for being there; thank you…” The soldier had long finished reading the letter but still looked at the yellowish paper and at the simple words of gratitude from a little boy, which were more valuable to him than all the military awards he had received over the years of service. Tears welled up in the soldier's eyes; he pressed the child's letter to his chest and gazed at the clear starry sky. A shooting star flew by. Hundreds of kilometers away from the military camp, a little boy climbed a cherry tree growing in his yard and also looked at the shooting star, wondering if the soldier had received his letter. It happens that two people—a soldier and a little boy—who have never met and may never meet, looked together at the starry sky and dreamed together of a happy future.