hiraeth
(n.) a homesickness for a home to which you cannot return, a home which maybe never was; the nostalgia, the yearning, the grief for the lost places of your past.
I take a deep breath to calm myself as I walk away from home. For the last time, I look back to see our house - its weathered walls, the crooked fence I used to squeeze through as a kid, and the faint glow of the porch light my mother always left on. It felt smaller now, like the memories had outgrown the space.
In my hand, I clutched a worn-out photo of my family, edges curled and colors faded. The laughter captured in it felt like a different lifetime, a fragile reminder of what used to be.
The wind picked up, rustling the leaves of the oak tree in the yard, and I hesitated. Would they notice I was gone right away? Would they even care?
I shook the thought away and turned back to the road ahead. I wasn't running away, I told myself - I was starting over. The weight of that decision sat heavy in my chest, but as the horizon opened up before me, I felt something stir. It wasn't relief, not yet, but it was close.
As I walk closer to the bus station, I notice a crowd of people waiting, their faces a mixture of impatience and fatigue. Some clutch their bags tightly, while others scroll absentmindedly on their phones. The sound of engines humming and muffled announcements fills the air, blending with the chatter of travelers.
I make my way to the ticketing booth, the small window smeared with fingerprints. "One ticket, please," I say, my voice quieter than I intended. The clerk barely glances at me as they hand over the slip of paper.
Ticket in hand, I join the line. It's longer than I expected, but I don't mind. The wait gives me time to think - or at least try not to.
After a few minutes, I finally enter the bus and head to the back row. I choose a seat on the left, right by the window, relieved that no one else has taken it. Hugging my bag tightly, I settle in, slipping on my earphones to drown out the noise around me.
The bus isn't moving yet - it's waiting for the remaining seats to fill. As I glance around, my eyes catch someone sitting on the right side, a few seats away from mine. A guy, leaning against the window with his eyes closed. His curly hair is the first thing I notice, messy but somehow perfect.
Realizing I've been staring for a moment too long, I quickly turn back to the window. He might think I'm a weirdo (which, to be fair, is half true). I am a weirdo in my own way - a unique trait that I've learned to embrace.
Finally, after what feels like an eternity, the bus starts to move. I'm relieved no one has taken the seat beside me yet. Reaching into my bag, I pull out my little turquoise diary, decorated with colorful flowers.
I open it, ready to write the first sentence, when I suddenly feel the weight of someone's gaze. Slowly, I turn my head and see him - the guy from before - looking directly at me. My heart skips a beat as I quickly look away, pretending to focus on the blank page in front of me.
But in that brief moment, I notice his face. His features are striking - feminine in a way, with long lashes, plump bottom lips, and warm, honey-colored skin. It's a strange talent of mine, memorizing faces almost instantly, even if I forget them just as quickly.
The bus comes to a stop, picking up more passengers from a waiting shed. To my dismay, the seat beside me is finally occupied.
Along the way, as everyone busies themselves with their own thoughts, I can't hold back my tears. They fall slowly, tracing warm lines down my cheeks. My mind feels heavy, weighed down by a thousand questions I can't seem to answer.
How am I supposed to live my life in this state of mind? Will I ever truly be happy? Where can I find the peace I've been longing for?
People who know me always tell me how lucky I am, how envious they are of the life I'm living. But who would tell them the truth? No one knows my story. No one knows the battles I fight in silence.
I wipe my tears quickly, pushing those thoughts aside. The scenery outside is too idyllic to ignore - the warm hues of the setting sun, the gentle sway of the trees lining the road. It feels like a small balm for my troubled heart, if only for a moment.
Suddenly, I hear the soft murmur of conversation from the seats beside me. Curious, I glance in their direction, careful not to make it obvious that I'm looking. My brows furrow as I notice something strange - the window seat is empty.
Where did he go? The guy with the beautiful face.
A pang of regret settles in my chest. I hadn't even noticed when he left. I didn't get the chance to see him again, to memorize the small details of his expression. He felt like a fleeting firework, brilliant and unexpected, but gone before I could truly appreciate it.
I let out a small sigh and turn my gaze back to the window. Maybe it's silly, but I can't help hoping I'll see him again someday.
Months passed, and life carried on as usual, though the memory of the mysterious guy lingered in the back of my mind. I chalked it up to my imagination, a manifestation of the fears and insecurities I carried like a shadow. I had convinced myself that he was never real - just a fragment of my troubled thoughts.
But then, one ordinary afternoon, as I walked along the bustling streets of the city, I saw him. Or someone who looked exactly like him.
He stood by a cafe window, sipping from a steaming cup, his gaze distant and heavy, as if lost in a labyrinth of his own thoughts. My heart raced. Was it really him?
Before I could overthink, my feet moved on their own. I approached cautiously, my palms sweating as I rehearsed what to say. "Excuse me," I began softly.
He turned to face me, his eyes widening slightly in surprise. For a moment, I wondered if he recognized me too. "Yes?" he replied, his voice calm but tinged with something I couldn't quite place - fear, maybe?
"I - I'm sorry if this sounds strange, but you look so familiar. Have we met before?" I asked, my voice trembling.
He gave a small, strained smile. "I don't think so, but? you seem familiar too."
There was an awkward pause before he added, "Funny, isn't it? Like we've crossed paths before in another life or something."
I studied him closely. His smile didn't reach his eyes. They held a weight, a burden he couldn't seem to shake. It was eerily similar to how I'd felt back then - haunted by something unseen.
"Are you okay?" I asked before I could stop myself.
His gaze dropped to the ground, and he hesitated before answering. "Not really," he admitted. "But I'm trying to be."
Something inside me stirred. Was this a chance for me to confront not just my own fears but to help someone else do the same?
"I've been there," I said quietly. "And I think? maybe we're supposed to figure this out together."
For the first time, his expression softened, the faintest glimmer of hope breaking through his guarded demeanor.
And as we sat down together, exchanging stories of our hidden battles, I couldn't help but wonder: Was this a coincidence, or had fate brought us together to help each other heal?
[This just a part of their story, let's get to know them soon]
(The girls' story : Why she??)
(The boy's story: Boxed promises)
(Their story: Hiraeth, In the Sand where i wrote your name)
[Plss.. Wait for it]
(n.) a homesickness for a home to which you cannot return, a home which maybe never was; the nostalgia, the yearning, the grief for the lost places of your past.
I take a deep breath to calm myself as I walk away from home. For the last time, I look back to see our house - its weathered walls, the crooked fence I used to squeeze through as a kid, and the faint glow of the porch light my mother always left on. It felt smaller now, like the memories had outgrown the space.
In my hand, I clutched a worn-out photo of my family, edges curled and colors faded. The laughter captured in it felt like a different lifetime, a fragile reminder of what used to be.
The wind picked up, rustling the leaves of the oak tree in the yard, and I hesitated. Would they notice I was gone right away? Would they even care?
I shook the thought away and turned back to the road ahead. I wasn't running away, I told myself - I was starting over. The weight of that decision sat heavy in my chest, but as the horizon opened up before me, I felt something stir. It wasn't relief, not yet, but it was close.
As I walk closer to the bus station, I notice a crowd of people waiting, their faces a mixture of impatience and fatigue. Some clutch their bags tightly, while others scroll absentmindedly on their phones. The sound of engines humming and muffled announcements fills the air, blending with the chatter of travelers.
I make my way to the ticketing booth, the small window smeared with fingerprints. "One ticket, please," I say, my voice quieter than I intended. The clerk barely glances at me as they hand over the slip of paper.
Ticket in hand, I join the line. It's longer than I expected, but I don't mind. The wait gives me time to think - or at least try not to.
After a few minutes, I finally enter the bus and head to the back row. I choose a seat on the left, right by the window, relieved that no one else has taken it. Hugging my bag tightly, I settle in, slipping on my earphones to drown out the noise around me.
The bus isn't moving yet - it's waiting for the remaining seats to fill. As I glance around, my eyes catch someone sitting on the right side, a few seats away from mine. A guy, leaning against the window with his eyes closed. His curly hair is the first thing I notice, messy but somehow perfect.
Realizing I've been staring for a moment too long, I quickly turn back to the window. He might think I'm a weirdo (which, to be fair, is half true). I am a weirdo in my own way - a unique trait that I've learned to embrace.
Finally, after what feels like an eternity, the bus starts to move. I'm relieved no one has taken the seat beside me yet. Reaching into my bag, I pull out my little turquoise diary, decorated with colorful flowers.
I open it, ready to write the first sentence, when I suddenly feel the weight of someone's gaze. Slowly, I turn my head and see him - the guy from before - looking directly at me. My heart skips a beat as I quickly look away, pretending to focus on the blank page in front of me.
But in that brief moment, I notice his face. His features are striking - feminine in a way, with long lashes, plump bottom lips, and warm, honey-colored skin. It's a strange talent of mine, memorizing faces almost instantly, even if I forget them just as quickly.
The bus comes to a stop, picking up more passengers from a waiting shed. To my dismay, the seat beside me is finally occupied.
Along the way, as everyone busies themselves with their own thoughts, I can't hold back my tears. They fall slowly, tracing warm lines down my cheeks. My mind feels heavy, weighed down by a thousand questions I can't seem to answer.
How am I supposed to live my life in this state of mind? Will I ever truly be happy? Where can I find the peace I've been longing for?
People who know me always tell me how lucky I am, how envious they are of the life I'm living. But who would tell them the truth? No one knows my story. No one knows the battles I fight in silence.
I wipe my tears quickly, pushing those thoughts aside. The scenery outside is too idyllic to ignore - the warm hues of the setting sun, the gentle sway of the trees lining the road. It feels like a small balm for my troubled heart, if only for a moment.
Suddenly, I hear the soft murmur of conversation from the seats beside me. Curious, I glance in their direction, careful not to make it obvious that I'm looking. My brows furrow as I notice something strange - the window seat is empty.
Where did he go? The guy with the beautiful face.
A pang of regret settles in my chest. I hadn't even noticed when he left. I didn't get the chance to see him again, to memorize the small details of his expression. He felt like a fleeting firework, brilliant and unexpected, but gone before I could truly appreciate it.
I let out a small sigh and turn my gaze back to the window. Maybe it's silly, but I can't help hoping I'll see him again someday.
Months passed, and life carried on as usual, though the memory of the mysterious guy lingered in the back of my mind. I chalked it up to my imagination, a manifestation of the fears and insecurities I carried like a shadow. I had convinced myself that he was never real - just a fragment of my troubled thoughts.
But then, one ordinary afternoon, as I walked along the bustling streets of the city, I saw him. Or someone who looked exactly like him.
He stood by a cafe window, sipping from a steaming cup, his gaze distant and heavy, as if lost in a labyrinth of his own thoughts. My heart raced. Was it really him?
Before I could overthink, my feet moved on their own. I approached cautiously, my palms sweating as I rehearsed what to say. "Excuse me," I began softly.
He turned to face me, his eyes widening slightly in surprise. For a moment, I wondered if he recognized me too. "Yes?" he replied, his voice calm but tinged with something I couldn't quite place - fear, maybe?
"I - I'm sorry if this sounds strange, but you look so familiar. Have we met before?" I asked, my voice trembling.
He gave a small, strained smile. "I don't think so, but? you seem familiar too."
There was an awkward pause before he added, "Funny, isn't it? Like we've crossed paths before in another life or something."
I studied him closely. His smile didn't reach his eyes. They held a weight, a burden he couldn't seem to shake. It was eerily similar to how I'd felt back then - haunted by something unseen.
"Are you okay?" I asked before I could stop myself.
His gaze dropped to the ground, and he hesitated before answering. "Not really," he admitted. "But I'm trying to be."
Something inside me stirred. Was this a chance for me to confront not just my own fears but to help someone else do the same?
"I've been there," I said quietly. "And I think? maybe we're supposed to figure this out together."
For the first time, his expression softened, the faintest glimmer of hope breaking through his guarded demeanor.
And as we sat down together, exchanging stories of our hidden battles, I couldn't help but wonder: Was this a coincidence, or had fate brought us together to help each other heal?
[This just a part of their story, let's get to know them soon]
(The girls' story : Why she??)
(The boy's story: Boxed promises)
(Their story: Hiraeth, In the Sand where i wrote your name)
[Plss.. Wait for it]
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