The day of the flight arrived. Elias stood at the terminal, his suitcase heavy with books he knew he wouldn't read. He kept looking at the clock, waiting for a grand cinematic moment that he told himself wouldn't happen. Then, he saw it—a flash of bright yellow moving through the crowd of grey coats. Clara wasn't there to tell him to stay; she was there to give him a small, hand-drawn map of the city he was moving to, with one spot marked in red: The place where I'll meet you in six months.
