"Mellany?" her mom echoes, curiosity in her voice. "You've been there before… so you liked it."
"I've been there? No wonder this place just popped into my head," Grace murmurs, a small smile tugging at her lips.
Her mom chuckles softly.
"Yeah, you went there for your friend's wedding."
"Oh, I see," Grace says with a nod, glancing at the laptop. She scrolls through the pictures of Mellany's streets, her eyes lingering on the antique buildings bathed in golden sunlight. "I mean… this place is so beautiful. Antique, yet modern… and nostalgic."
"Okay, if that's where you want to go, go there. But… isn't tomorrow a little soon?" her mom asks, concerned with threading her voice.
Grace shakes her head, half to herself. "After tomorrow, the flights are way more expensive. I'll just leave tomorrow, Mom."
Her mom's voice rises slightly in surprise.
"For how long will you stay? When will you come back?"
Grace bites her lip, a laugh escaping her.
"For now, I'm just booking a one-way ticket."
"What?"
Grace chuckles again, feeling a spark of freedom in the spontaneity.
"You told me to rest, Mom. I really want to rest without worrying about the time. If I feel like coming back early, I will. But if I want to stay longer, I'll stay. I'll come back anyway for the summer semester."
"That's right. All right, do as you want. Just find a safe place to stay, like a hotel, and send me the info."
"Sure. Thanks so much, Mom, for letting me do this!" Grace says, her voice bright with excitement.
They end the call, and Grace leans back in her chair, eyes scanning the photos of Mellany once more. Sunlight glints off the screen, illuminating the streets, the quaint architecture, the blooming flowers in the city squares.
"So I've been here already, for my friend's wedding. No wonder it feels so familiar," she murmurs, a soft smile spreading across her face. "Thank you, Lord, for this journey! For everything!"
She leans back further, letting herself sink into the chair, a sense of lightness and anticipation fluttering in her chest. The world feels wide open, full of possibility, and for the first time in a long while, she feels entirely free.
The low rustle of flipping pages and the rhythmic tap of keyboards ripple through the library's stillness as Julian walks slowly down the aisle. Unlike yesterday's near-empty quiet, the place hums softly with life—students hunched over books, notebooks spread wide, pens scratching.
His eyes sweep from side to side, searching. Each corner, each row, holds only strangers. No trace of her.
Grace is not here… I guess, Julian thinks, a faint heaviness settling into his chest.
He turns the corner and heads toward the staircase, his steps measured, reluctant.
A soft sigh escapes him, almost lost in the quiet.
"I guess she didn't come today." His voice barely carries, but the words feel heavy in his throat. "Hope she comes tomorrow."
He lowers his gaze as he descends the stairs, the echo of his footsteps trailing behind, each one threaded with the weight of longing.
The morning sunlight floods the airport's glass façade, glinting off polished floors as Grace steps through the automatic doors. A single large suitcase rolls behind her, and a worn sports bag hangs from her shoulder. She slips off her sunglasses, eyes bright, lips curling into a small, eager smile as she takes in the bustle of travelers around her.
Soon, she is seated at the gate, the wide window before her framing the waiting airplane. The metallic gleam of its wings catches the sunlight.
"So I am really going to Mellany," she murmurs, her voice touched with wonder. She folds her hands lightly on her lap, eyes lingering on the horizon beyond the runway. "Lord, please protect me on this journey… and thank you for this trip."
She bows her head slightly, savoring the quiet of her prayer, the rare peace of this moment alone.
After a while, she unlocks her phone. The contact list stares back at her—nearly empty. Her messenger apps are the same.
"Well, where are all the friends' contacts from before my coma?" she whispers, genuine confusion flickering across her face.
Her fingers tap idly against her knee as the minutes drag by. A soft sigh escapes her. To pass the time, she opens a social media app she's never used before and begins signing up.
"Maybe I can upload and record this journey," she muses with a small laugh, "even if I probably won't have any friends right now. Recording the memory is still good."
She snaps a quick picture, the camera catching her face mid-smile, and sets it as her profile photo. The name she types feels both foreign and natural.
"All right," she says, looking at her new profile page, a fresh slate waiting to be filled. She pockets the phone and leans back, eyes lifting once more to the glowing runway beyond the glass. The morning light spills across her face, and she smiles, as though already stepping into a new beginning.
Thirteen hours later, Grace steps off the airplane, exhaustion tugging faintly at her limbs, but her eyes alight with quiet anticipation. She threads her way through the airport corridors, the announcements overhead echoing in English—yet with a lilting accent that feels both familiar and foreign.
Passport stamped. Security passed. She emerges at last into the open air, the sliding doors parting to reveal a new city bathed in the glow of afternoon light.
Taxis line the curb, their yellow paint reflecting in the glass panels of the terminal. Grace pulls her suitcase along, spots an empty cab, and climbs inside.
"Hello," she greets warmly, leaning forward with a smile. "Can you take me to the Trinity Hotel?"
"Sure," the driver replies with an easy grin. The engine hums to life.
Grace settles into the back seat, lowering the window. A rush of spring breeze greets her, carrying with it the scents of flowers and faintly aged stone. She turns her gaze outward, drinking in the panorama as the city begins to pass by—grand facades of antique buildings rising proudly, their worn edges telling stories of centuries past, interspersed with hints of modern glass and steel.
"Wow," she breathes, her voice barely louder than the wind rushing in. "The city is even more beautiful than the pictures." A soft pause. Then, almost as if reminding herself: "Oh right… I've actually already been here. It's just that I don't remember."
The driver glances at her in the rearview mirror. "Ma'am, are you here for the first time?"
Grace tilts her head, lips curving into a gentle smile.
"Well, technically, not my first time. But I'll say it's almost like the first time."
"Okay?" the taxi driver chuckles, his eyes crinkling in the mirror. "And you are alone on this trip?"
Grace nods, lips curving into an easy smile.
"Yes, I'm alone. Are there any places you'd recommend visiting? I didn't make any plans, to be honest." Her voice carries a quiet thrill of freedom, as if she relishes the uncharted.
The driver lets out a hearty laugh.
"Of course, Ma'am! Mellany is full of treasures. Our city has a very rich history. The first place I recommend is…" His voice lifts with pride as he paints vivid pictures—cathedrals with stained-glass windows glowing like jewels, narrow cobbled streets winding between ivy-wrapped walls, hidden cafés where the air smells of roasted beans and fresh bread.
Grace listens intently, eyes darting outside as if she's already glimpsing these places through his words.
Half an hour later, the taxi slows to a smooth halt before the grand façade of the Trinity Hotel. Its stone arches gleam in the fading light, and the revolving door turns with a stately rhythm.
"Ma'am, we're here," the driver says gently.
"Thank you so much," Grace replies with genuine warmth. "I'll make sure to visit the places you recommended."
She hands him her card. The driver chuckles again, tapping it against the reader with a soft beep before returning it.
"Thank you, Ma'am. Have a wonderful time in Mellany," he says, his voice carrying a trace of local pride.
"Thank you. Have a great day," Grace says with a smile.
She steps out of the cab, the wheels of her suitcase rolling across the pavement. She pauses for a moment beneath the wide sky, gazing up at the hotel's stone-carved pillars. The breeze lifts her hair, carrying with it the faint scent of blossoms and old stone.
Grace stands before the Trinity Hotel, her suitcase at her side. The building towers over her, its grand entrance framed by carved stone arches and gilded lanterns that glimmer in the afternoon light. The revolving door spins slowly, reflecting fragments of the bustling street.
For a moment, she feels as though the world around her stills. Something stirs inside her mind—an image, a shadow, a flash of sound—flying past so quickly she almost misses it.
Her steps falter. She narrows her eyes at the ornate pillars as if they might reveal the truth.
"Did I ever come here…?" she murmurs under her breath.