“I have to report this afternoon.”
She lets out a low breath and leans her shoulder against the frame.
“That’s fast.”
“I think they don’t want women changing their minds.”
Marai snorts once.
“Smart of them.”
I almost smile.
She studies me for another second.
“Are you scared?”
“Yes.”
“Are you still going?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, that’s good.”
The simple answer settles something in the room.
Marai steps farther inside and holds out a small wrapped parcel.
“For the shuttle.”
I blink.
“You already fed me.”
“That was yesterday.” She presses it into my hand. “Take it.”
Inside is warm bread again, this time with a salted filling tucked into the center. My throat tightens so suddenly I have to look down.
“Thank you,” I say quietly.
She shrugs, but her face softens.
“You find a life where people don’t see hungry women as easy targets, all right?”
I swallow.
“I’ll try.”
After she leaves, I sit on the bed with the parcel in my lap and look around the room one last time. The walls are ugly. The window slot lets in weak light. The heater coughs and rattles like it might die any day now. But the room does not feel hopeless anymore.
Because I am leaving. Not into safety, I know that. Not into love. Not into anything certain. But into movement. Into possibility. Into a world where breakfast was real, the rent was paid, and a contract somewhere in a polished office already has my name beside the name of a king.
I should be terrified. Instead, what I feel is stranger than that. Fear and grief twisted together with a relief so deep it feels almost unreal. I didn’t understand how close to breaking I truly was until something finally reached underneath me and held.
When the departure notice pings my wrist tag, I stand. I put on the blue dress and the lined coat. Brush my hair until the dark waves fall down my back instead of knotting at my shoulders. Ipack the nutrient bars, the scarf, the bread, the comb, the soap, and the papers I still cannot leave behind.
Not much. Only what fits.
