"Salut, Mama," I said, trying to steady my voice as I pressed the phone closer to my ear. It had been a while since she last called—since her visit the month before—and something in me had already begun preparing for bad news before she even spoke. "Salut, Regina, ça va?" Her voice came through warm and familiar, carrying that softness I hadn't realized I missed so much. "Oui, ça va, Mama… et toi?" I replied, leaning lightly against the wall outside the headmaster's office, my fingers tightening around the edge of my sleeve. "Ça va bien, ma chérie." The moment she said it, something in my chest loosened; I hadn't noticed how tense I was until then. My thoughts, which had been racing ahead with worry, slowed all at once, and I let out a quiet breath, realizing that maybe this wasn't bad news after all. There was a brief pause, the kind that stretches just enough to make you listen more carefully. "I want you and all your siblings to come home for Easter," she continued. "Your dad and I will be there. I'll pick up Anna tomorrow, and your father will arrange for the others. Your brothers will manage themselves." For a second, I didn't respond, not even sure I had heard her correctly. My mind repeated her words slowly, as if testing them for truth — all of us, home, together. We hadn't been a full family in one place since COVID-19 changed everything, since distance had quietly become normal and silence had started settling between us in ways none of us ever really talked about. "Mama… tu es sérieuse of pas?" I asked, my voice softer now, almost careful, as if saying it too loudly might break whatever fragile possibility she had just offered. "Très sérieuse," she replied without hesitation. "So pack your things. Don't go to your aunt's this time. I've already called Anna. I'll see you at home. Bisous." "Bisous," I echoed, though my voice felt distant even to me. The line went quiet, and for a moment I just stood there, staring at nothing, the phone still in my hand as if the call hadn't fully ended. The corridor around me felt strangely still, like the world had paused just long enough for the news to settle inside me — home, not visits, not quick weekends, not one or two of us passing through at different times, but all of us. I finally handed the phone back to the headmaster, barely registering his polite nod or the faint curiosity in his eyes, because my thoughts were already somewhere else—back in rooms I hadn't seen in too long, in voices layered over each other at the dinner table, in laughter that used to feel effortless. A strange mix of excitement and disbelief rushed through me all at once; it felt too sudden, too perfect, almost like something I shouldn't trust yet, and still I couldn't stop the small smile that began forming. I turned and walked quickly down the corridor, then faster, until my steps broke into something closer to a run, my heart beating harder—not from the distance, but from everything waiting ahead. By the time I reached the dorm, I pushed the door open and went straight to my bed, pulling out my bag without even sitting down, gathering clothes, books, small things I didn't really need with hurried movements, as if time had suddenly become urgent. Easter. Home. Together. The words echoed in my mind, bright and unreal, like something I had almost forgotten how to hope for.
As I packed, my thoughts kept drifting back to the plans I had before Mama called, the quiet little world I had already built for this holiday. In my head, it had all been simple: Elliot and I, finally having time that belonged only to us. We hadn't seen each other in so long—not properly, not without distance and interruptions constantly pulling us apart—and I had been holding onto that anticipation more than I cared to admit. There were things we wanted to do, places we had talked about, moments that felt almost overdue. Now, as I folded my clothes and placed them neatly into my bag, that version of the holiday began to fade, replaced by something bigger, something I should have been happier about. Still, I couldn't ignore the small disappointment lingering underneath. It felt selfish, almost wrong, to think about Elliot when my family was finally coming together again after so long, yet the thought stayed with me, quiet but persistent. Our little secret plans—ones I hadn't even said out loud—were slipping away before they had the chance to exist.
I paused for a moment, sitting at the edge of my bed, letting the silence of the room settle around me. Maybe there was still a way. A small one, but enough. A weekend, perhaps, before we all returned to school. I could ask Dad if we could pass by Aunt's place on the way back—it wasn't impossible, and if I asked the right way, at the right time, he might agree. Anna would probably like it too; she always makes the most of those brief breaks, turning them into something easy. She'd get to see her friends, laugh a little before everything started again. Or maybe she wouldn't care at all. Maybe it would only matter to me. Either way, I knew how these things worked—if Dad said yes, then it would happen, and if he didn't, there wouldn't be much left to argue about. That was usually the end of it. That's all that matters, right? I thought, though the answer didn't feel as certain as I wanted it to be.
I shook the thought away and finished packing, realizing it hadn't taken much time at all. I had already started preparing earlier, knowing I'd be going home soon for tutoring anyway, so everything came together quickly. My bag sat full and ready beside my bed, a quiet reminder that there was no going back on any of this now. I only needed to rest, or at least attempt to. I needed sleep, especially before people started asking questions—questions that always arose when I suddenly changed plans or when people noticed things they weren't meant to. And beyond that, I needed an excuse.
Daniel. The thought of him made me sigh under my breath as I lay back against the bed, staring up at the ceiling. He had been insisting that we meet before the holiday began, as if persistence alone could change how I felt. No matter how uninterested I tried to look, how distant I kept my words, he never really gave up. It was almost impressive, if it hadn't been so exhausting. But I already knew where I stood. Elliot was enough for me—more than enough—and I didn't want to complicate things with something I didn't even want. So I would keep it simple. I'd tell him I fell asleep, that I overslept, that time just slipped away from me. It wasn't entirely convincing, but it would be enough. By tomorrow, I'd already be on my way home, and he wouldn't see me again until next term. If I were lucky, we wouldn't cross paths at all—not at school, not even by accident when visiting relatives. I closed my eyes, holding onto that small hope, knowing that sometimes distance was the easiest answer to things you didn't want to face.
I woke up earlier than usual, the kind of early that feels almost intentional, as if my body didn't want to risk missing anything. The dorm was still quiet, wrapped in that soft silence before everyone else begins to move, and for a moment I just lay there, staring at the ceiling, letting the reality of the day settle in. I had already said my goodbyes to the girls the night before—long hugs, a few promises we all knew might not be kept exactly the way we said them, and the kind of laughter that tries to hide the fact that something is ending, even if it's only temporary. It made this morning easier. No lingering conversations, no drawn-out exits. Just me, my packed bag, and the quiet feeling of leaving. I got ready quickly, moving through the routine without much thought, as if my mind was already somewhere else—on the road, at home, in a place that felt both familiar and distant at the same time. By the time I stepped outside, the air was still cool, carrying that early morning freshness that disappears too quickly once the day begins. I adjusted the strap of my bag on my shoulder and walked toward the front, each step steady, purposeful. All I wanted now was to leave without interruption. I stood near the gate, waiting for Dad to arrive, my eyes occasionally drifting toward the path that led back into the school. Students would start appearing soon—I knew that—and with them would come the looks, the whispers, the quiet assumptions that always seemed to follow me whether I wanted them to or not. I didn't have the energy for that today. Not now. Not when my mind was already full of everything else. So I kept to myself, standing just far enough away, hoping to remain unnoticed for once. Time moved slowly in that in-between space, where nothing is happening yet everything feels like it's about to. I shifted my weight from one foot to the other, exhaling softly as I watched the empty road. For a brief moment, it almost felt peaceful—like I had stepped outside of everything that usually surrounded me. Then, in the distance, I spotted a familiar car approaching, and something inside me lifted instantly. Dad. Relief settled over me, quiet but certain. No interruptions. No conversations I didn't want to have. Just a clean exit. As the car pulled closer, I allowed myself the smallest smile, picking up my bag properly and stepping forward, ready to leave this place behind, even if only for a while. And just before I opened the door, I glanced back once—not long enough to feel anything, not long enough to change my mind—just enough to acknowledge that I was leaving. See you next term, I thought, a hint of sharpness slipping into the words as they formed in my mind. Losers .Then I got into the car, closing the door on everything I didn't feel like carrying with me.