Chapter 198 Farewell (Grand Finale)

Chapter 198 Farewell (Grand Finale)

I held the boarding pass tightly for a long time. The edges had gone soft and damp.

I checked the flight number. Clean print. Solid ink.

Emily was still outside security. I knew she was still crying.

Ryan hadn't left either. The wind kept tugging at the hem of his coat.

I didn't want to go in.

I folded the boarding pass into my pocket, turned around, and walked back out of the airport, suitcase dragging behind me.

My real flight was the next day. I just wanted to walk through this city one last time, alone.

I gave myself a full day.

Stepping out of the terminal, something inside me finally relaxed.

I couldn't name the feeling. But I knew this was the last time I'd stand on this ground—the ground that held everything I'd ever been—and feel exactly this way.

The taxi dropped me off across from Stellar Innovations.

I stood there, watching the building through traffic.

It looked the same. Glass curtain wall. Grey sky. The security guard at the front desk, head down, scrolling on his phone.

His car wasn't there. He was probably in a meeting. I stood for two minutes. The wind cut between buildings, and the edge of my scarf kept brushing my collarbone.

Then I turned and walked away.

The old restaurant was next. The one William took me to on our first anniversary.

He'd worn a dark navy suit. Silver-framed glasses, spotless. When the steak came, he cut it neatly into pieces and slid the plate toward me without a word.

On the way out, he held the door and waited for me to walk through first.

The place had changed hands years ago. I stood across the street and looked at it for a moment, then let a small smile slip through.

Time moves forward. Places change, people change—no exceptions.

Only memory stays the same, holding on stubbornly to how things once were.

Then the riverside path.

For two years, I walked this route every day.

Spring: tiny white flowers along the bank. Summer: wind rippling the water. Autumn: leaves drifting down and floating away. Winter: cold hitting your face like a slap.

I walked slowly. The wind off the river pressed my hair flat against my cheeks. I pushed it back. My fingers were numb.

A jogger passed by. An egret skimmed low over the water, pale wings against the grey sky.

I stopped at the railing.

My hand rested on the cold iron bar. I watched the water push against the bank over and over.

Dead leaves spun slowly on the grey-green surface.

William and I had stood here once. He told me to keep going. He said if I ever got tired, I could always turn back. He said he had no one, and he'd keep going alone.

He'd been looking out at the river when he said it, his profile sharp in the light.

Now I was here alone. The cold wind made my eyes ache.

I called Emily.

She picked up after a long while. Her voice was thick, still catching from crying.

"Where are you?"

"By the river."

"You didn't leave?"

"I changed my flight."

Silence.

"Why?" The wind swallowed half the word. I didn't have an answer. "I don't know. I just wanted to walk around a little longer."

Emily didn't push. She was quiet for a moment. "Do you want me to come?"

"No. Go get some rest."

She let out a shaky laugh, still half crying.

I hung up and stayed where I was.

I leaned against the railing and closed my eyes. The edge of my scarf lifted and fell with the wind, brushing against my neck—gentle and persistent, like someone saying my name close to my ear, over and over.

When I opened my eyes, a crack had opened in the clouds. A strip of pale gold light fell across the river, stretching out into a long bright line.

That evening, I went to a bar near the university.

William and I had come here once. He'd drunk too much that night, talked more than usual. Slouched in the booth and told me about his childhood. After his mother died, he locked himself in his room for three days. Madison had to drag him out. The sunlight was so bright he could barely open his eyes.

He told me all of this looking sideways at the window, his thumb moving slowly around the rim of his glass.

I sat across from him and listened. I could see it—how tightly he held himself together most of the time, and how, only when he was drunk, something underneath would slip out.

The bar was still open. I took the same booth, ordered the same drinks, drank slowly.

The light was warm and dim. A group of college students at the next table were playing dice, laughing loudly. It was noisy, but I didn't want to leave. Noise was better than silence.

After two drinks, I was tired. I paid and stepped outside. The night wind hit my collar and I shivered. I stood at the curb with my suitcase, waiting for a cab. The streetlight stretched my shadow long and thin.

Across the street, a couple stood at the crosswalk. The guy had his arm around her shoulder. She tilted her head back, laughing, her eyes soft. The light turned green. They crossed hand in hand. I watched until they were out of sight, then looked away.

The hotel room was small. The window faced a narrow alley. Light from the building across seeped through the curtain gap and drew a thin line across the wall.

I sat on the edge of the bed after my shower, hair still wet. Water dripped from the ends onto my shoulder.

I lay on my side, facing the line of light, and couldn't sleep.

Images kept surfacing. Ryan's red eyes. Emily's smeared mascara. William's tight jaw as he let me go by the river.

I didn't fall asleep until past midnight. Even then it was restless. In the dream, someone pulled the blanket up over me. The back of their hand, slightly cool, brushed across my chin. I tried to open my eyes, but they were too heavy to lift.

I woke as the sky started to lighten. Grey-white morning light filtered through the curtains and spread across the room.

I picked up my phone. 6:37 a.m.

My flight was at ten. Plenty of time.

I got up, washed up, dressed, dried my hair in front of the mirror, tied it back.

My face was a little pale. Faint shadows under my eyes. But my gaze was clear. I patted my cheeks lightly. "Let's go."

I checked out and took a cab to the airport. On the way, we passed the riverside path one more time.

In the departure area, I scrolled through my phone. Emily had messaged: Did you leave? I told her I was waiting to board.

Ryan hadn't sent anything new. I scrolled back. He'd sent a message at eleven the night before: Have a safe trip. I was asleep and hadn't replied.

I typed back: Thank you, Ryan. I'm heading out now. Take care.

He replied quickly. One word: Okay.

The announcement came on. Passengers boarding.

I stood up with my boarding pass and walked toward the gate.

When I got there, the line had already formed. I joined the end and checked my pass again.

Gate and flight number were correct. My eyes moved to the date.

I stared at the numbers. My mind went blank. I checked again. And again.

The ticket had expired.

My heart dropped. My fingers went white around the paper.

I spun around and ran. The suitcase wheels clattered against the floor. People gasped. I shouted apologies without looking back and kept running.

My heartbeat pounded in my ears, loud and fast. I ran past security, past duty-free shops, around a corner by a food stall.

Someone was coming toward me from ahead. Too fast to stop. I ran straight into them.

My forehead hit their shoulder. Everything went dark for a second. I stumbled back. A firm hand caught me, pressed steady against my back, held me upright.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry—" I rubbed my forehead, started to look up, and the words died in my throat.

William was standing in front of me.

Black hoodie. Brim pulled low. But I knew his eyes instantly.

Deep brown, rimmed with the faintest trace of amber at the edge.

He looked down at me. The corner of his mouth curved, just slightly.

"What are you running from?"

I smiled too.