“Home.
Where is home, anyway?
Wherever your heart is.
Where is your heart, then?” ~~~K
I stared at the cursive handwritten note in blue ink for a moment before closing the journal and sliding it back onto the “Heart Shelf” — a quiet corner of the library where people left fragments of themselves between the pages of a leather-bound notebook.
I saw her again yesterday. This time at the beach. She was walking barefoot along the shoreline, where the waves rolled in and curled around her feet — unaware of my presence, as always.
Was she, though?
Was she truly unaware?
Because yesterday, for a brief second, she stopped walking and looked at me. I’m still not sure if the faint curve of her lips was a smile.
Maybe it was. But I didn’t smile back — not because I wanted to seem unaffected, as if to say, “Hey, I’m not taken a thousand years back by your otherworldly beauty under the soft evening sun on the beach.” Because I was definitely taken a thousand years back by her kohl-lined hazel eyes and somber face.
***
It’s been a few weeks since I started noticing her around.
The first time was in our library. She was at the counter, arguing over a library card. That was when she caught my attention. Frustration was written across her face after being told she couldn’t get one without proof of residence. I immediately sent Stephanie, one of my colleagues, to reassure her that a copy of a utility bill — even if it wasn’t under her name — would work. And the way her entire face lit up was the moment I knew that I needed to see that light again.
I did — that very afternoon. She came back dancing through the library doors with a gas bill in hand and a triumphant smile plastered across her face. Then she checked out three books as soon as she got her card. That’s when I learned her name from our system — Kayra.
***
A few days later, I saw her again in the café across the street from where I live, just a short walk from the library. It was a weekend afternoon. I’d stopped by for a coffee on my way to meet a friend, and there she was — sitting by the window, lost in a book—one of the books she checked out from the library: Alice Feeney’s Daisy Darker. She is most probably into thrillers. So far, she had checked out six of them. Yet her eyes, her smile, her posture — everything screamed poetry.
“A girl who moves like poetry but loves murder stories,” I told Stephanie the other day when she caught me looking at Kayra.
“Why don’t you ask her out?” Stephanie teased.
“Oh, what made you think that I won’t?”
The café and the library weren’t the only places I saw her.
Once, I spotted her on a ferry to Centre Island. I was on a different one, heading back. She wore a deep purple top and black pants, standing by the railing as the wind tangled her hair. Sometimes she chatted with her friends, but most of the time she was silent, watching the water drift by.
What was she thinking? I wondered. Was she excited to see Centre Island? Had she read a thriller the night before and was still lost in it? Was she thinking of someone? Does she have someone in her life? What if she loves someone?
The thought of it sent me into a sudden, spiraling panic I hadn’t known I was capable of.
“You have reached Oshawa Station,” the female voice from the train’s speaker announced, pulling me from my thoughts. I grabbed my suitcase and stepped onto the platform. The clock read 12 a.m. — too late for a bus. Uber would be easier.
I called one and was about to sit on a bench under the yellow lamppost when I saw her — sitting alone, holding a watch in her hand, the wind catching strands of her hair. I was struck by her, as always — but this time, there was something different in her demeanor: a haunting
I followed her gaze and found her staring into nothing. She looked… defeated — though by what, I didn’t know
What happened to you? Who hurt you, Kayra?
I found myself walking toward her. She didn’t notice me at first. She just sat there — still, fragile, porcelain — as if she didn’t belong in that moment. When my shadow finally fell over her, a single tear slipped down her cheek. She wiped it away quickly before looking up at me.
“Hi!” I tell her.
She stared for a few seconds before replying, “Hi.” Her hi sounded like a question.
For a moment, I search for words in my mind, then I say, “Waiting for your Uber?”
She shook her head. “Not yet. I need to book one.” She pulled her phone from her bag.
“I’m Noel,” I said, reaching out a hand. “I know you. I’ve seen you several times in the library.”
At first, she hesitated, then shook my hand. “Nice to meet you, Noel. I’m Kayra. But I’ve never seen you in the library.”
I sat beside her on the bench. “Well, I work mostly in the back, so you probably never noticed.”
“Oh, you work for the library. I’ve thought you just go there.”
I smile, “Yeah, I work for the library and also go there.”
A faint smile escaped her lips. “So, where are you coming back from at this hour?”
“From Montreal. I was on a week-long vacation,” I reply.
“That’s nice. I’ve always wanted to go there. It’s on my bucket list.”
“You’d love it. It’s a very artsy city. The food’s incredible. The landscapes — beautiful. A piece of Europe, really.”
“Yeah, I’ve heard that.”
“So, where are you coming back from?” I asked her.
“Broadview,” she said
“Broadview?”
She nodded, “Yeah, it’s in East York.”
“Oh, right.” I hesitated before asking, “What took you there?”
She folded her arms across her chest. “Ah, I went to get my watch. I left it with… a friend the last time I went to see him.” She dangled the watch gently.
“Must be precious to you,” I said.
“Huh?” Her hazel eyes met mine — big as always, though slightly puffy now. The kohl around them was smudged, yet it couldn’t hide the haunting behind her gaze. It was the look of someone
who was trying her best to hide the devastation. But she had no idea how miserably she had been failing.
What broke you like that? I wanted to ask. Instead, I said, “The watch. It must mean a lot to you if you went all the way from Oshawa to East York to get it back.”
She looked down at it, brushing her thumb over the surface. “It does. It’s very precious. My father gave it to me.”
“An heirloom, then?”
“Yeah.” She shrugged.
My phone vibrated — the Uber was here. And I hated myself for leaving her at that station at this hour. But if I offered her a ride, why would she trust a stranger? Especially a thriller reader like her.
She could think of me however she wanted. I just couldn’t walk away.
“Hey, my Uber’s here. I can drop you off if that’s okay with you,” I offered.
She gave me a hesitant look.
“You can share your live location with someone. In case I kidnap you,” I joked.
Her solemn face breaks into a chuckle, like a crack in the ice. “That’s okay. You don’t have to go through the trouble, especially after a long trip. I’ll call my Uber. It’s safe, don’t worry,” she said, sliding the watch into her bag.
“Are you sure?”
She nodded.
“Okay, then let me wait until yours gets here,” I said.
“No, no. You don’t have to. I’m fine. Really.”
“Well, that wasn’t a question.” I texted my driver to wait a little longer.
Her Uber arrived within minutes. I asked for her number, just to make sure she got home safely. She did. She texted me that night. And then — nothing. Until we met again a couple of weeks later in the library. She walked in wearing a pink floral shirt and asked for me.
“You remember me?” I asked.
She smiled. “I remember you — the stranger who made sure I wasn’t kidnapped on my way home.”
I laughed. “How are you?”
The smile faded. That flicker of sadness I’d seen at the station returned. But she immediately smiled again, “Good. I’m good.”
“Is your watch safe now?” I teased.
“Completely. I’ve kept it so safe I haven’t worn it since — just in case I leave it somewhere again.”
“Fair enough.”
She shrugged. “Yeah. Sorry, I’m not interrupting your work, am I?”
“Not at all,” I said, glancing at the clock on the wall. “I’m almost done for the day.”
“Oh, that’s great. I’m about to leave, too. Got my book,” she said, showing me the one she’d borrowed — The Butterfly Garden.
“You love thrillers, huh?”
“Love them. I wish reading thrillers were a full-time job,” she laughed.
I laughed too, though I didn’t tell her that I already knew that she was a thriller fan.
“Okay, Noel. Nice to see you again. I thought I’d say hi,” she said.
She was leaving. Say something. Anything.
“Um, what’s your plan for the evening?” I asked.
“Nothing. Just going home and probably reading a chapter or two before bed.”
“Right. Do you drink coffee?” Although I made it seem like I casually asked her, I wasn’t so casual in my mind.
“Yeah, I do. Why?”
“Wanna grab a coffee before you head home? I’m almost done here — five minutes, tops,” I said.
She hesitated, thinking about something I couldn’t see, before asking, “Is it a date?”
I looked into her eyes. “You’re a smart girl. What do you think?”
I swear I saw her cheeks flush. She looked away at first, tightening her grip on the book, then met my gaze again. “So, it’s a date.”
“Stupid are the ones who wouldn’t want it to be a date with you,” I chuckled.
She turned redder but smiled, “Okay.”
I smiled back, “Okay.”
***
I lay propped up on my bed with my warm fairy lights on. Outside, it was drizzling. I could hear the rain pattering against the window. Drawing the blanket up to my chin, I thought about my date with Noel this evening. It was a simple date, as simple as they come. We went to a coffee shop, Dolce. He ordered coffee for himself and hot chocolate for me.
“Do you want to sit here or walk?” Noel asked.
Sitting and talking on a first date always suffocated me, so I said, “Let’s take a walk.”
“Sure. There’s a little hill nearby—wanna walk up there?” he asked as we stepped out of the café.
I nodded. “Okay.”
It was a cloudy evening. The wind rose with a rush, then fell away just as gently.
“You love hot chocolate, huh?” he asked while I kept switching the cup from one hand to the other—it was hot.
“Yes, I like it. And if I had coffee at this hour, I wouldn’t get any sleep tonight.”
“Sorry, I forgot to ask them for a sleeve,” he said, noticing my hands. “I think I have tissues in my bag.” He pulled a small packet from his leather messenger bag. “Here.”
“Thanks,” I said, smiling.
“No worries. So, you’re not a coffee lover?”
“I’m more of a tea person—milk tea. Coffee makes me hyper, jittery. I don’t like the after-effect,” I laughed.
“Got it,” he nodded. “That’s the hill,” he said, pointing across the street. “Have you ever been up there?”
“Nope. It’s my first time.”
We crossed the street, climbed the hill, and at the top, my jaw dropped. From there, you could see the entire city—lights, moving cars, towering buildings, and the big, beautiful, endless sky—which reminded me of a night with Adrianne at Riverdale Park. My heart squeezed. I folded my arms over my chest and looked at Noel, only to find him looking at me.
“It’s majestic,” I said.
He smiled. “It is.”
We sat side by side on the grass—he sipping his coffee, me my hot chocolate.
“Why did you ask me out?” I blurted.
He chuckled. “Because I like you, obviously. I want to know you.”
“Since when did you know you wanted to ask me out?” I asked, watching him.
“The day you came into the library for a card. Since that day,” he said, smiling over the rim of his cup.
I couldn’t hide my surprise. “Really?”
“Yep.”
“And I didn’t even know you worked there. Never even saw you. That’s wild.”
He laughed. “Is it?”
The sun slipped behind a heavy grey cloud. With the sun gone, the temperature dropped. I cursed myself for not bringing a sweater, pulled my legs in, and held them tight.
“You cold?” he asked.
“Yes. I forgot my sweater.”
“That’s okay. Here, take mine,” he said, shrugging off his jacket.
“No, no. You don’t have to. Then you’ll be cold.”
“I’m Canadian,” he deadpanned. “I can take it.” He passed me the jacket.
“Fair enough,” I said, wrapping it around me. The moment I put it on, his light, breezy, aquatic scent enveloped me.
“So, what’s the watch story—if you don’t mind sharing?” he asked.
“The watch story?”
“You seemed pretty devastated at the station the night you came back from your friend with your watch.”
I glanced away, focusing on the city lights. Suddenly, the air felt chillier. “He was not a friend.”
“Okay.”
“He was someone…” I searched for words to describe Adrianne. Who was he to me? My boyfriend? No. A friend? No. Did I like him? Hell, yes. Did he like me back? Not enough. Did I get my heart broken? Into a thousand pieces. “He was someone I fell in love with while mourning his departure from my life,” I said. “His existence in my life was very short, but did he rattle me upside down? Yes.”
I felt his gaze, but didn’t meet it. My eyes stayed on the distant lights.
“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice soft.
I looked at him and smiled. “Well, yeah, I’m back to myself now.”
“Are you really back to yourself?”
I sighed. “At least now I know he wasn’t my destination. I mistook him for one, whereas I was just a pit stop for him.”
“A pit stop?”
“Just a pit stop.”
He nodded. “So, did you make a safe return?”
I laughed. “Got my heart smashed. Broke some bones here and there. Still hurts, but stitching back.”
We stayed another two hours, talking about life, space, and autumn. He dropped me home. I almost forgot to return his jacket, then stopped midway and found him still in the driveway. I peeked through his car window. “You’re still here.”
“I’m not moving until you’re inside your house.”
I smiled. “You forgot to ask for your jacket back. Don’t be like me—leaving your things where they don’t belong.”
“Well, I’m quite sure the jacket isn’t in the wrong place,” he said, a tease bouncing in his deep green eyes. I said goodnight and returned his jacket. He didn’t leave until I was inside.
My phone rang—it was Violet.
“So, you went on a date with the guy you met the night you got back from Adrianne with your watch?” Violet asked when I told her.
“I know it sounds crazy.”
“No, it’s not crazy. Maybe one day you’ll tell your kids, ‘Hey, this is how I met your father: I was coming back from a two-month situationship with my heart shattered and met him at the station.’ If anything, it’s dramatic. Maybe he’s your destiny,” she teased.
“Oh, shut up. My soulmate hit his head and died or something. I’m sure of it now,” I said.
Violet laughed. “Tell me how it went.”
I turned off my bedside lamp, slipped under the blanket, and settled in before spilling the tea. “It went well. No butterflies. No racing heart. No adrenaline rush. Just two adults talking about life. Sometimes teasing each other. That’s it. No drama.”
“The fact that you calm storms doesn’t mean you were born to love hurricanes,” Violet replied.
“But something happened, and I don’t know if I should feel good about it.”
“What happened?”
“It got chilly, and dumb me didn’t bring a sweater. He noticed and just took off his jacket and gave it to me. Seems like chivalry isn’t dead,” I chuckled.
“And you don’t know if you should feel good about his kindness?” Violet asked.
“No. I feel good, but I don’t know if that’s right to feel,” I sighed. “I’m a complicated human being.”
“Why do you think it’s not right to feel good?”
“Doesn’t it only happen in the movies?”
“And where do you think the moviemakers get their ideas? Real life,” Violet said. “These days, we’re too shy to show affection, whereas this is the right thing to do.”
“Maybe.”
“You’re scared, aren’t you?”
“Shouldn’t I be?”
“You have every right to be scared, yeah. But not everyone is Adrianne.”
“And how would I know he isn’t another Adrianne?” I sighed.
“This time you’ll know. Trust me.”
I slept that night, trusting her a little—even if not completely.
I woke the next morning to a good-morning text from him that turned into good-night texts—memes, useless topics, and a rant about my intolerable boss in between. He checked on me every day—asked if I’d eaten, if I’d reached home safely; if I forgot to update him, he called until I picked up. Talking before bed became our ritual. Maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t an Adrianne at all.
Two weeks later…
“Did you just say you had to get off at Ajax because the train went express to Toronto?” Noel asked.
He had invited me to his place for dinner. It was my second time there. I was on the train when the announcement came: after Whitby and Ajax, it would skip the usual stops and go straight to Union.
“Yes,” I said.
“No way. They never do that.”
“Seems like they’re capable of it.”
“Just stay where you are. I’m going to call the head office and look into it,” he said.
“You don’t have to. I’ll figure out an alternative. I can take an Uber.”
“No. Don’t take an Uber—it’s a fair distance from Ajax to my place; the fare will be huge,” he said. He paused. “I should’ve come and gotten you.”
“Don’t blame yourself. Your car’s with the mechanic. What could you have done?”
“Okay. Give me a few minutes before you book anything. Get inside the platform; it’s getting cold. I’ll call you back, okay?”
“Okay, fine.” I went back inside as he said. I wasn’t the only one stranded; plenty of people looked blindsided by the sudden change. I struck up conversations and found a few heading to Guildwood. I was about to ask if they wanted to share an Uber when my phone rang. It was Noel.
“Hey. I talked to the train authority—there won’t be another train to Guildwood tonight,” he said.
“Shit.”
“Yeah.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll share an Uber with some people here; they’re heading to Guildwood too.”
“Do you know them?”
“No. Why?”
“Well, it’s not safe to ride with strangers,” he said, his voice calm.
“They seem decent,” I countered.
“Maybe. But you don’t know that for sure, right? Why take a risk?” He paused. “Besides, I’ve booked an Uber for you. It’s on its way.”
“What?” I said. “Why did you do that?”
“Come on. You’re stranded at a station coming to my place. This is the least I can do.”
I stood there, dumbfounded—and a bit annoyed. “I can take care of myself, Noel. I flew thousands of miles from a different country to here alone.”
“Yeah, I know. I’m always appreciative of it. But you’re not alone anymore,” he said softly.
Suddenly, I was at a loss for words. My heart wanted to believe that; my mind wouldn’t let me. I didn’t argue. I thanked him and took the Uber he booked.
His apartment was tidy, clutter-free, and minimalistic as usual—except for the giant Christmas tree in the living room with its ornaments and fairy lights. By the time I arrived, it was 9:30 p.m., and I was dead tired from the day, the train drama, and traffic. He was still cooking.
“The lights on the Christmas tree are on,” I said as we talked in the kitchen while he worked on pot pie.
“Yeah, I turned them on. I saw the way you were watching it the other night,” he replied.
“I’ve never seen a Christmas tree that big,” I said, leaning against the counter.
“You will… from now on,” he said, nudging me.
I said nothing—just smiled.
After a while I went back to the living room and fell asleep on his couch.
A light nudge woke me. It was Noel. “Kayra.” His voice was gentle. “Do you have a fever?” His palm rested on my forehead. I wasn’t sure, but I felt unusually cold and my throat was sore.
I sat up, drawing my knees to my chest. “I think I have a fever.”
“Shit,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “I’m bringing you a blanket.” He disappeared into his bedroom and came back with a fluffy beige blanket.
I reached for it, but he wrapped it around me instead. “Thanks,” I whispered, looking up at him.
“You must be hungry. Sorry—the cooking took time,” he said.
“It’s okay,” I smiled. “I wasn’t that hungry.”
“But you are now.”
“Kind of,” I shrugged.
“Okay—on a scale of one to ten, how hungry are you right now?” he asked, grinning. I froze. Adrianne used to say that.
I blinked, then answered, “Eight.”
“Oh, you’re hungry, then,” he grinned. “Sit right here. I’m bringing the dishes.”
“You don’t have to. I can come to the kitchen and set my plate,” I insisted.
He didn’t wait. He went to the kitchen and brought the dishes and plates one by one. He’d cooked butter chicken, pulao, beef pot pie, and baked a pound cake. While eating, my eyes drifted to a painting of a storm at sea hanging in the living room.
“That’s a nice painting,” I said.
He followed my gaze. “Miranda painted it—my ex-girlfriend who passed away.”
“Oh.” He’d told me about Miranda when we first started dating. Five years together. They never broke up. She died in a road accident two years ago.
“Sorry,” he said quietly. “It was her favorite piece. I never had the heart to take it down.”
“Hey, it’s okay. You don’t have to,” I said, stroking his hand.
The rest of the night, we talked about our pasts—childhood, friendships, love. He grew up without a mother. His father moved around Canada for work. Noel never felt belonging growing up. Miranda was his first taste of what “someone of your own” felt like.
“You are not a pit stop, Kayra; nor do you need to go out searching for home. Because you are home,” he told me, locking his green eyes with mine on the couch.
I didn’t go home that night. When we went to bed, it was 4 a.m. We slept side by side—his arm over me, my arm around myself.
The next morning, I woke to the sound of cutlery. In the kitchen, he was making omelets.
“Morning!” he said when he noticed me at the door, then walked up and pressed a kiss to my forehead.
“Morning,” I said. “What are you doing?”
“Making breakfast for us. Do you eat omelets?”
I looked at him, then at the pan. On the other burner, milk tea simmered—he knew my morning didn’t start without it. And suddenly, I felt like I needed to go home. I didn’t know why. I just wanted to go home.
I took a breath. “I don’t eat breakfast,” I lied. “But thanks for making it. I need to leave. I forgot I have an assignment due this afternoon.” Another lie.
“Oh,” he said. The joy slipped from his face. “Okay… are you alright, though?” He searched my face for something. I knew what it was—reassurance.
I only nodded and left the kitchen, washed my face, and grabbed my purse.
“Let me call you an Uber to the station,” he said from the living room.
“That’s fine. I already booked one,” I tried to smile, but my face felt plastered.
The Uber came in a minute. I left his apartment after a brief hug. Outside, I took a deep breath. I didn’t know what was happening to me. He was nice. Probably the nicest guy I’d ever dated. In the Uber, I sent a voice note to Violet: “I don’t know how to exist in a love that doesn’t ask me to fight for it. Guess what? I ran.”
When I reached the station and boarded the train, I grabbed my phone to check for Violet’s reply—and saw a text sitting quietly on my notification bar. A text from Adrianne.
Hey! How are you?
I immediately put my phone down with a racing heart. His text sat there like a match near dry leaves.
***
Blinds drawn. Lights off. Guard’s down.
I sank into the shadows I once thought I’d fought off. A shadow named Adrianne.
I slipped out of my overcoat and into my pajamas. Pulling out my leather-bound journal, I sat on my bed. I turned the bedside lamp on and drifted for a moment.
My phone vibrated. A text from Noel — Is everything okay? Have you reached home?
I checked but didn’t reply. I don’t know what paralyzed me — I just couldn’t respond. I didn’t reply to Adrianne either. Putting the phone aside, I opened my journal and started to write.
All this time, I’d been searching for a safe harbour where I could finally anchor myself.
I was seen by Noel.
Taken care of.
Held gently.
Heard.
But I had nothing to offer.
I was at the receiving end, and it felt unnatural, undeserved — imbalanced.
Then… I ran as fast as I could.
The storm I thought I’d escaped had only moved further out to sea. It was still there, brewing in the mid-ocean, waiting to lash out the moment I let my guard down.
Where is home?
Where is my heart?
Where have I anchored it?
If I had anchored it somewhere, why does it still hurt? Why don’t I feel steady? Why did the giant wave wash me over again?
I quietly closed the journal and lay on my back in silence. I shut my eyes, and Adrianne was still
there — his eyes, his smile, his calmness, the twitch of his brows, his impatience, his silence.
I opened my eyes, and everything I shared with Noel rushed in.
I wrapped my arms around myself, staring at the ceiling.
Your heart chooses whomever it chooses, I thought.
The heart deceives us often, Violet’s voice echoed in my head.
Over the next few days, I kept myself busy with writing, work, and college assignments.
I did reply to Noel — everything’s fine.
It was a lie.
He sent a few more texts. I didn’t reply.
I messaged Adrianne too — told him everything’s going good.
What I didn’t tell him was that I still missed him. I missed him walking down streets covered with fallen leaves. I missed him in the hum of the wind. I missed him while waiting for the train. I missed him in the quiet of early mornings, making tea. I missed him opening the tuna can. I missed him in the lyrics of every song, between pages of every story. I missed him first thing in the morning. Last thing at night. Every waking moment.
But he was oblivious to it.
My heart refused to let him go.
My mind was at war — with whom, I didn’t even know — while my brain kept whispering, let him drift, let him disappear.
And Noel? He lingered in a quiet corner of my mind, desperately looking for a way toward my heart.
I sat in the wide, rolling field behind my house under the soft autumn sun, inhaling the sweet, moist air, when the question quietly knocked on my door: Where was Kayra?
I searched for her in my heart — she wasn’t there.
I looked for her in my mind — her absence was louder than Adrianne and Noel’s presence.
I went on a hunt for her inside my brain — but Kayra had been missing all along.
I was missing from my own life, even though it was crowded with everyone else.
I sat there for another hour, dumbfounded, sinking into the truth I’d kept avoiding. I looked up at the sky, tears in my eyes. But this time, I didn’t ask God, Am I so unlovable?
All this time, I’d been searching for love out in the wild, erasing my own existence.
***
I took the journal from the “Heart Shelf” at the library and propped it open in front of Noel.
“This is me,” I said, pointing at the small, cursive note.
Home.
Where is home, anyway?
Wherever your heart is.
Where is your heart, then? ~~~K
After a moment of silence, he said, “I know.”
I frowned, surprised. “How did you know?”
He sighed. “I meant… I kind of knew. I saw you one day writing in this journal. Then later that day, when I came to write something, your note was the last one in it — with your initial. I just did the math.”
I slowly nodded. “Okay… that’s okay.”
He slid his hands into his pockets. “So, how are you, Kayra?”
I half-smiled. “Can I be honest?”
“Only honest answers.”
“I don’t know how I am,” I exhaled. “All this time, I’ve been looking for my home — my anchor — in other people. And I didn’t even realize that I am my own home. My own anchor. And now? I have no effing clue where I am… because I never realized I was the missing piece.”
He kept listening, his eyes tracing my face.
“How can other people be your home or anchor when they’re just as fragile, carrying storms of their own?” I said.
“What do you want, Kayra?” His voice was warm but calm.
Shaking my head, I said, “I don’t know what I want, Noel. But I know I can’t drag you into a story where I’m not present.”
I took a breath, glanced around the library, and whispered, “All I know is that I need to go and look for Kayra. I need me. My heart will keep deceiving me until I find her and make a home in her first.”
I dared to look at his face. He was softly smiling, a hint of sadness in his eyes.
“I knew,” he said quietly, “that you were in a quiet battle with yourself. That you hadn’t made a safe return to yourself yet.”
I smiled back at him. “You asked me once, and I said I was back. But in reality, I wasn’t. I’d still been paddling through the storm with no clue what I was even searching for.”
“But now you know.”
“But now I know.”
I left the library that day with a knowing in my chest — my home was broken into pieces, scattered everywhere.
I left knowing that I was going to pick every single piece up.
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About
Born and raised in the bustling capital of Bangladesh- Dhaka, Umme Pritam has been in love with reading since childhood, which eventually led her to write fiction. In 2022, she published her debut novel Eiliyah worldwide. The novel explored themes of love, loss, and self-discovery, and since its release, she has continued to write fiction that centers quiet emotional truths and complex interpersonal dynamics. She is currently working on her second novel: Far away from the maddening crowd.
Now based in Canada, she remains committed to writing stories that cross cultural and emotional borders. The enclosed story reflects her ongoing interest in characters navigating identity, vulnerability, and the intricate relationships that shape their lives.
When she is not writing, you’ll find her having deep, long conversations with her friends, reading books and watching movies, or simply taking a long walk on the trail behind her house.
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