Hazel woke up to the smell of coffee rising from downstairs in rich, warm aromas. She lay there for an instant, her eyes flickering open to let sunlight dance across her skin. The air seemed to vibrate with a softer, almost gentle quality and It took Hazel a moment to realize that she was no longer at the convent. She was home.
A smile pulled at the edges of her lips as sat up slowly, listening to the faint clinking of dishes being washed downstairs, the humming, the sound of her father's feet moving from the living room. It was all the same, yet different in every way.
She saw her image reflected in the mirror as she swung out of bed, a face that is so familiar yet completely. She had grown more hair, a paler skin tone, softer eyes. There were things in which the convent had changed her, the manner in which she walked, in the quietness she projected. However, in it all, she could also see the girl who liked to dance in the room with school uniforms on, carrying an off-key song to the radio's tune. She smiled at the memory and whispered, almost to herself, "I'm home."
After a quick shower, she changed into a simple dress and did her hair before going downstairs. The aromas of coffee brewing and toasted bread warmly welcomed her in a manner that resembled an embrace.
"Morning, sweetheart," came the call from the kitchen, with her mother turning with a bright smile. "You're up early!"
"Early?" Hazel laughed, looking at the clock. "It's almost nine."
Her mother waved a dismissing hand. "You're on holiday early enough." She poured her cup of coffee and pushed it across the counter with a questioning look. "You still take it black?"
Hazel nodded, enfolding her hands around the warm mug. "Still the same," she murmured, taking a sip.
His father entered shortly thereafter, still tweaking his watch, planting a kiss on Hazel's forehead. "Good to have you back, pumpkin," he said.
Richard trailed behind, yawning loudly. "You two started without me? That's rude."
They all sat around the table, an old rhythm coming back effortlessly with questions, with laughter, with the small talk that flowed as if it never stopped. There were questions from Hazel's mother about the convent; from her father, if the nuns were making their strange barley soup yet. Hazel laughed, nodded in assent. "Every Wednesday," she said.
Richard then settled back in his chair with a smirk on his face. "You'll enjoy it here over the holiday," he said. "I have some buddies I want you to meet. You won't be stuck praying the entire time."
Hazel laughed. "I wasn't planning on it,"
"Oh really?" her mother teased. "That's progress."
Richard grinned. "Don't worry, I'll introduce you formally later on. You'll like them a lot anyway. There's Daniel, Zoe, and Aleona, my girlfriend. She's cool. And then maybe a friend of Aleona's might come with her too."
Hazel cocked an eyebrow in curiosity. "That's a long list of names. You're positive they want to meet a novitiate?"
"I do," his brother laughed. "Trust me, they'll love you. You're like a novelty, they've never met anyone so… peaceful."
Hazel rolled her eyes but smiled. "Calm? That's one way to describe it."
Laughter is something that soon filled the room with warmth, resonating gently against the tiles in the kitchen. It felt good, too good almost. Hazel realized just how much she had missed it, the disorderliness that came with family life. After their breakfast, Hazel assisted in washing the dishes, their conversation being light and laid back. She heard with a smile stories of life in the office from the mother who mixed these with talk of the neighborhood.
Afterwards, she is summoned by her father to view his vegetable garden where he is pleased with the small greens bursting from the ground in rows. "You used to play in here," he pointed out towards the corner where the fence is, "You were running around with that old wood hoop until you got grass stains on your knees."
Hazel laughed lightly, feeling a tightness in her chest with nostalgia. "I remember," Hazel said. "You used to scold me for ruining my dresses."
"And you never listened," he said with a grin.
By the time afternoon came, the toll of travel and reunion started to tell on her. She went back upstairs, changed into something light, and went to lie down on her own bed. She thought of the convent, of the vows that beckoned her back, of the laughter at her family's breakfast table. The world seemed loud and colorful in comparison to the stark walls she had grown so accustomed to. And yet, for perhaps the first time in a long time, it did not feel overwhelming; it felt alive.
Before sleep took her, she dropped to her knees beside the bed to pray for the joy of her family, for guidance, for the calm that quieted her spirit. She crossed herself gently, praying, "Thank You for bringing me home." When she finally got into her blankets, her body settled, and her heart was full. The lingering smell of dinner from her mother hung in the air, and a peaceful sleep with a small smile on her face.