I packed in the morning.
There wasn't much to fold. I hadn't worn half the clothes I brought. I just kept putting on the same few outfits — the ones I felt most like myself in.
The cottage felt quiet. Not heavy. Just… still.
I took my time.
There was no rush, and nothing left to do.
Outside, the sky was pale blue. A little cloudy. Warm enough to leave my sweater draped over my arm. I locked the front door, took one last look at the porch, and walked down the steps.
No one was waiting.
But I didn't expect anyone to be.
I made my way toward the stop slowly, past the same turns and signs I'd passed every day without really thinking. A couple birds flew overhead. I passed two people walking a dog. That was it.
It felt like a regular morning.
Just with something missing.
The bus arrived right on time.
I got on. Found a window seat. Watched the town pull away.
Just quiet.
A few months later.
I got a promotion.
Bigger team. More meetings. A lot of spreadsheets. I smiled in the right places and kept my coffee filled and told myself I was doing well — because I was.
I was fine.
Better than fine, some days.
I'd fall asleep on the train ride home with my phone still in my hand, or spend Saturday mornings cleaning and pretending I didn't miss anything.
But every once in a while — just sometimes — I'd catch a smell in the air that reminded me of the sea.
Or I'd see someone walking ahead of me on the sidewalk, hands in their pockets, quiet, and for a second I'd think—
No.
Not think.
Just feel it.
Alan.
He'd come back in flashes.
In silence. In stillness. In the way I paused for no reason and looked at the sky.
I don't think I'll ever stop remembering him.
But I don't need to.
Some people stay.
Even when they don't.
THE END.