AWAKE WITH MEMORIES

Today, Nancy and I are going home for the holidays. It’s not forever—just a short break—but the goodbye still feels heavy.

We wake up early, while the hostel is still wrapped in sleepy silence. After a quick bath, we start packing. The room feels quieter than usual, as if it knows we’re leaving for a while. We fold our clothes, gather our notes, and zip up bags filled with more than just essentials—inside them, little moments from the last few weeks come along with us.

We rush down for breakfast, but we’re late. The first bus has already left.

The second bus arrives, full of students chatting and shuffling around with their bags. Nancy and I manage to find seats beside each other. We sit close—quiet, a little sleepy, a little thoughtful. The bus is stuffy with heat and noise, but we don’t mind.

It’s only a 50-minute ride, but when it ends, it feels like we’ve only just begun.

As the bus slows down near our stop, I look at Nancy and say, “Why so early? I don’t want to leave you yet.”

She smiles warmly and rubs my head gently. “We’ll meet on 11th June, don’t be sad. It’s just a few days.”

Our next buses—one to my hometown, the other to hers—are waiting nearby. We step off and head in separate directions. I climb into mine and take a seat.

As the engine starts, I turn to look back—just once.

Through the window, I spot her still standing—caught in the rush, unable to find a seat. She looks small in the crowd, but so familiar it makes my chest tighten.

My phone rings. It’s Papa. I tell him I’ll reach in about 50 minutes.

But when I reach my city, the connecting bus to my village is already packed and pulling away. I miss it. The next one won’t arrive for 40 minutes. I call home again and explain the delay. They tell me to take my time.

Finally, I arrive. The streets feel softer, the air calmer. My parents are waiting. We talk, laugh, share little stories. I feel safe here. Loved.

Tired from the travel, I drift off to sleep.

When I wake up, it’s 8 p.m. I have dinner, then step out for a short walk. The night is peaceful. My family is already asleep.

The stars shimmer above like tiny promises, and the cool breeze feels like a quiet reminder that everything will fall back into place soon.

...****************...

 ON THE OTHER SIDE (NANCY'S HOUSE)

Nancy shifts on the bed and sighs. Her phone lights up. It's already past midnight.

She replays the moment again—the way Alex ignored Rychal, the way Rychal pretended not to see him but couldn't hide the hurt in her eyes.

“Why is he still doing this?” she whispers to herself. “Doesn’t he feel even a little sorry?”

Nancy's eyes sting. Not because she loves him—but because someone she loves was hurt by him.

She turns over, hugging her pillow tightly. Her chest aches—not with heartbreak, but with helplessness. She wants to fix it, to protect Rychel from everything. But some wounds are silent, and even best friends can’t bandage them.

Outside, the stars blink softly in the dark sky—millions of them, far away and quiet.

Inside, Nancy blinks back her thoughts.

She doesn’t sleep. Not for a long time.

And somewhere in the same night, in another town not too far away, Rychal is sleeping soundly, unaware that someone is lying awake for her, thinking, worrying, hoping that one day—Alex will finally realize what he’s done.

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