Sara's journey began toward a distant city—far from her small village, far from the house whose walls had watched her grow, and far from her parents, the only sanctuary she had ever known. She had never imagined that leaving could feel so heavy, as if a piece of her soul were being pulled away in a quiet, agonizing ache—no screams, no noise... only a silent pain slipping into her heart.
She boarded a small car owned by a neighbor who had volunteered to drive her to the station. Clutching her bag to her chest, she sat by the window, terrified of losing it just as she had lost everything else in a single moment. That bag held more than clothes; it carried papers, memories, photographs, and an old letter from her father that she had not yet dared to open.
Before the car moved, she looked back.
Her father sat in his wheelchair by the door, weariness etched into every line of his face. His eyes glistened with tears he tried in vain to hide, his trembling smile a desperate attempt to offer her a strength he no longer possessed. Her mother, unable to hold back her sobs, waved with a shaking hand, her lips murmuring continuous prayers as if weaving an invisible shield around her daughter. Beside them, her brother had clung to her until the very last second, as though afraid she would slip from his hands into an unknown world.
When he finally released her, he had leaned in and whispered something. She hadn't heard it clearly, yet it felt like a silent promise—or perhaps an early apology for the absence to come.
As the car pulled away, the house began to shrink. She stared at the image of her family until the first turn swallowed them whole. Only then did her strength fail, and the tears began to flow.
The road stretched ahead, lined with fields and scattered olive trees. The drone of the engine blended with her racing thoughts while the cold air slipped through a half-open window. Memories rushed in without order: childhood games in the village alleys, her father's voice at sunset, her brother's laughter in the square. But one memory outweighed them all—the night she overheard her parents whispering about "someone in the city" who could help her. They had never told her his name, and she hadn't asked why his mention sounded so heavy in her father's voice.
Exhaustion eventually overcame her, and her eyes drifted shut.
She woke to the jolting sound of brakes. The driver smiled kindly. "We've arrived, my daughter. I wish you success... may safety follow you."
Stepping out, Sara felt a strange mix of fear and awe. For the first time, she was truly alone. The station didn't feel like a beginning; it felt like a crossroads with no return.
The station buzzed with holiday travelers. The scraping of suitcases, the cacophony of voices, and the smell of iron mixed with cheap coffee filled the air. An announcement echoed: "The train heading to the city will depart in twenty minutes."
At the ticket counter, she pulled out the money her mother had given her, along with a small, folded note her mother had slipped into her pocket in secret. She didn't open it yet. She sensed the timing was wrong—or perhaps she simply feared the truth it held.
Holding the ticket like a contract with an unknown fate, she boarded the train.
Inside the carriage, she chose a window seat. The glass was ice-cold against her fingertips. She watched the passengers filter in until a man in a sharp, almost uniform-like outfit caught her eye. He was scanning faces with an unsettling intensity, as if searching for someone specific. For a heartbeat, their eyes met. A sudden tightness seized her chest. He looked away quickly, but she could still feel his presence looming in the air even after the train lurched forward.
The tracks stretched ahead, long and straight. As the carriage trembled, the rhythm of the wheels synced with her heartbeat. She pressed her hand against the glass and whispered to herself:
Would the city be her salvation... or did it hide secrets no one dared to tell her?
She did not know that some journeys do not just change your location; they awaken secrets that time has tried to bury for years. And inside her pocket, the old letter shifted with the vibration of the train, as if it knew its moment was finally drawing near.