Chapter 64 up
“The train ticket is for six a.m. Platform three. Are you sure you don’t want me to walk you all the way in?”
Nyla tightened the zipper of her backpack, then turned to Vincent. “I can manage on my own,” she said softly but firmly. “Thank you for asking—not deciding.”
Vincent nodded, accepting her answer without a trace of disappointment. “Then I’ll wait here. Until you’ve really left.”
Nyla smiled faintly. Not a smile of euphoria, but the kind that comes from finally making peace with one’s own choice.
The apartment was nearly empty now. No framed memories left on the walls, no lingering scent of an old home clinging to the corners. Small boxes were lined up neatly, labeled in Nyla’s own handwriting: documents, clothes, books. Not a single one was marked the past.
She closed the bedroom door for the last time, paused, then opened it again—not to cry, only to make sure nothing had been left behind. What remained had been left intentionally.
“All set?” Vincent asked from the living room.
“All set,” Nyla replied.
Vincent stepped closer, still keeping a respectful distance. “Your new city… you haven’t told me the exact address.”
Nyla nodded. “I want to build it slowly. On my own, first.”
“Alright,” Vincent said. “I’ll be here if you call. And if you don’t—I’ll still be here.”
The sentence was simple, but to Nyla, it was the safest form of support.
Her phone vibrated. A name appeared on the screen. She stared at it for a few seconds before answering.
“Nyla.”
Clark’s voice sounded calm, without urgency. Nyla stepped a little farther from Vincent and opened the window to let the morning air in.
“Yes,” she said.
“I heard you’re moving to another city,” Clark said. There was no probing tone. Just a statement.
“That’s right.”
“I’m not calling to ask where,” Clark continued quickly. “I just wanted to say… congratulations.”
Nyla fell silent for a moment, checking in with her body. There was no trembling. No tightness in her chest. Only a neutral quiet.
“Thank you,” she said. “I appreciate that.”
Clark exhaled softly. “I’m proud of you.”
Those words might have shattered her once. Now, Nyla received them like passing wind.
“I hope you’re doing well,” Clark went on. “And… I won’t contact you again unless you’re the one who reaches out.”
Nyla nodded, even though Clark couldn’t see her. “That’s a mature decision.”
“Learning,” Clark replied quietly. “Still learning.”
They fell silent. There was nothing left that needed to be said.
“Goodbye, Nyla.”
“Goodbye, Clark.”
The call ended.
Nyla lowered her phone and looked at her reflection in the window glass. The face staring back looked different—not because of makeup or age, but because of choice.
“Everything okay?” Vincent asked.
“Yes.”
“Then,” Vincent said, picking up his jacket, “let’s go.”
They walked side by side toward the elevator. No hands held. No leaning into each other. Yet their steps moved in rhythm.
In the lobby, the attendant greeted them. “Moving out, miss?”
“Yes,” Nyla replied.
“Hope you’ll be happy in your new place.”
“Thank you.”
Outside, the morning air was still cold. The station wasn’t too crowded. Nyla stood in front of the schedule board, double-checking the time. Vincent stood a few steps behind her, giving space.
“Nyla,” he said after a moment. “I want to make sure of one thing.”
She turned. “What is it?”
“I’m not moving with you. Not because I don’t care—but because this belongs to you.”
Nyla smiled. “I know.”
Vincent nodded. “If one day you want me to come—I will. If not—I’ll still respect you.”
“Thank you,” Nyla said. “That’s enough.”
The departure announcement echoed through the station.
“The southbound train will depart shortly. Passengers are requested to prepare.”
Nyla lifted her backpack. She looked at Vincent, then extended her hand. Vincent took it—brief, warm, without promises.
“Take care,” Vincent said.
“I’ll be alright,” Nyla replied.
She walked toward the platform. Each step felt light. There were no voices from the past chasing her. No shadows pulling her back.
At the end of the platform, Nyla paused for a moment, drew in a deep breath, then stepped into the carriage.
The train began to move.
Vincent stood there until her silhouette disappeared. He smiled softly—not because he possessed anything, but because he respected it.
Elsewhere, Clark stood by the window of his office. The city moved as usual. He set his phone down and looked at the brightening sky.
He didn’t chase.
He didn’t regret in the old way.
He accepted.
Clark turned back to his desk, opened a file, and began to work—not to forget, but to take responsibility.
Inside the train, Nyla sat by the window. The landscape shifted slowly. The old city fell away.
She touched her chest, feeling the steady rhythm of her heartbeat.
There was no longer any desire to return. No need to prove anything.
In her heart, she said with quiet certainty:
“I am not repeating the past—I am choosing the future.”