It's incredible how the days unfold," Thalma said to herself . "Finally back to England"
The airport was loud in the way only airports could be :a constant hum of rolling suitcases, overlapping languages, distant announcements echoing without urgency. Thalma stood still for a moment after clearing arrivals, her hand tight around the handle of her luggage, as if grounding herself before stepping forward.
England.
The word felt heavy in her chest.
She had imagined this moment differently while she was still in Morocco. She thought there would be relief :a sense of returning, of familiarity. Instead, there was only a dull ache, spreading slowly, settling into places she didn't have the strength to name.
Outside, the cold greeted her without apology.
She pulled her coat tighter around herself as she waited for the taxi, watching people move with practiced purpose. No one lingered. No one looked lost. England didn't make room for hesitation.
The drive to her apartment was quiet. Grey skies stretched endlessly above narrow roads, buildings passing by like memories she hadn't asked to revisit. She watched reflections slide across the taxi window ; her face looking older somehow, more tired.
When the car finally stopped, she thanked the driver softly and stepped out, dragging her suitcase behind her. The apartment building stood exactly as she remembered it. Same brick walls. Same narrow entrance. Same feeling of something unfinished waiting inside.
Her apartment smelled faintly of dust and stillness when she opened the door.
She stood there for a long moment, suitcase untouched, as if expecting the space to speak first. It didn't. The silence was thick, unfamiliar after weeks of warmth and noise.
She dropped her bag near the door and walked in slowly.
Nothing had changed , yet everything felt different.
She sat on the edge of the bed, exhaling deeply, when her phone vibrated in her hand.
Mom.
She hesitated for half a second before answering, then tapped the screen.
Her mother's face filled the screen instantly, warm and familiar, framed by the living room back home.
"Thalma," her mom said with a relieved smile. "You've arrived?"
"Yes, Mom," she replied, forcing a small smile. "I just got in."
"Thank God," her mother said, placing a hand on her chest. "I've been worried since morning."
Before Thalma could respond, another face leaned into the frame.
Her sister.
"You didn't even tell me when you landed!" she complained dramatically, her voice breaking into a grin. "Do you know how long I've been waiting for this call?"
Thalma laughed softly for the first time since arriving. "I'm sorry. Everything was just… a lot."
Her sister's smile faded just a little. "I'm going to miss you," she said quietly.
The words landed heavier than expected.
"I'll miss you too," Thalma replied, her voice softer now.
Her mother watched them both, eyes filled with the kind of strength only mothers carried. "England is not easy," she said gently. "You already know this. But you've done hard things before."
Thalma nodded.
"Be strong," her mom continued. "Even when it feels lonely. Especially then."
"I will," Thalma said, though the words felt more like a promise she hoped she could keep.
After a few more reassurances and gentle reminders to eat well and rest, the call ended.
The apartment felt even quieter afterward.
She set her phone down, stood up, and began unpacking slowly; folding clothes, placing shoes by the door, arranging small pieces of her life into drawers that already felt too rigid to hold her.
Her phone buzzed again.
This time, her breath caught.
Noah.
She stared at the screen, her thumb hovering over the answer button.
She hadn't told him.
She swallowed and answered.
"Hey," Noah's voice came through, warm and familiar. Too familiar.
"Hey," she replied.
There was a pause. "You sound… far," he said.
She exhaled slowly. "I am."
Another pause. "What do you mean?"
"I'm in England," she said quietly.
Silence stretched between them, thick and sharp.
"You're in England?" Noah repeated slowly.
"Since when?"
"I just arrived."
"You didn't tell me," he said, not accusing — just stating a fact that hurt.
"I know."
"Why?"
The question hung there, waiting for an answer she didn't have.
"I didn't know how to explain it," she said finally.
Noah laughed once, but there was no humor in it. "We were talking. Every day. We were building something."
"I didn't mean to hurt you," she said quickly.
"But you did," he replied, his voice lower now. "You left without saying a word."
She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again. Every explanation sounded weak even in her head.
"I just… needed to go," she said.
"That's not an explanation, Thalma."
"I know."
Another silence.
"So that's it?" he asked. "You just disappeared?"
"It's not like that."
"Then what is it like?" he pressed.
She couldn't answer.
He sighed deeply. "I thought we were building a thing," he said again, slower this time. "Guess I was wrong."
The line went dead.
She stared at her phone long after the call ended.
She didn't cry.
Not yet.
She lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling, the weight of England pressing down on her chest. The warmth of Morocco felt impossibly distant now. The connection she hadn't protected was gone.
Outside, the city continued without her.
And Thalma understood something clearly for the first time since arriving:England hadn't changed. She had.
And surviving it again would cost her more than she was ready to admit…but then again…
To be continued...