Chapter 2 Lisbon and the distance
1140 Words
*Chapter 2: Lisbon, and the Distance*
He landed at 6:42am.
Lisbon was cold and bright in a way Manila never was. The airport smelled like coffee and something clean. Elias turned his phone on in baggage claim.
No messages from Mara.
One email from Daniela: "Welcome. Orientation at 9am."
He didn’t send the "landed safe" text. He told himself he’d do it after he settled.
*Week 1: The Apartment Above the Bakery*
The NGO put him in a studio in Alfama. Third floor. No elevator. The walls were thick and the windows looked out over red roofs.
Every morning at 5am the bakery downstairs started. The smell of bread came through the floorboards. He used it as an alarm.
His job was simple on paper: document resettlement. In practice it meant sitting in waiting rooms for hours. Holding a camera while translators worked. Asking "can I take your photo" with his hands because his Portuguese was three words.
He sent Mara photos. Not of people. He wasn’t allowed yet.
The Douro at sunrise. Blue tiles on a wall. A stray dog that followed him for two blocks.
Under each one he wrote one line. "This light reminded me of you."
She replied once: "Nice."
He told himself she was busy.
*Week 2: Lina*
Her name was Lina. Danish. 34. She’d been with the NGO for three years and had the kind of tired eyes that came from seeing too much.
They shared a taxi back from a camp outside Porto. It was raining. The driver had fado on the radio too loud.
"You look like you’re here but not here," Lina said.
"Long distance," Elias said.
"Ah. Those never work."
"Mine will."
She didn’t argue. She just looked out the window.
That night he called Mara. 2am her time. She answered, voice thick with sleep.
"Hey," she said.
"Hey. I miss you."
"Me too."
A pause. He could hear her breathing.
"I have to go back to sleep," she said. "Early meeting."
"Okay. Love you."
"Yeah. Love you too."
He played that "yeah" for days. Was it sleep, or was it something else?
*Week 3: The Doorways*
He started taking photos of doors.
Closed doors. Open doors. Doors with three locks. Doors with kids’ drawings taped to them.
Daniela saw the series and said, "It’s on brand. Keep going."
Elias told himself it was about the project. It was really about the key Mara left on his counter in Cubao.
Lina caught him on the roof one night, looking at photos.
"Bad day?"
"She’s pulling away."
"You gonna fight for it?"
"I don’t know how to fight from here."
Lina sat next to him. She didn’t offer advice. She just stayed.
*Week 4: Madrid*
They moved base. More interviews. More forms.
He called Mara on a Sunday. It went to voicemail. He texted: "How’s work?"
Delivered. Not read.
He threw himself into work. A family from Syria. A kid who drew houses with red doors. An old man who played cards in the sun and didn’t speak, but let Elias take his photo.
He printed the photo of the red door and taped it above his bed.
*Week 5: The Silence*
The messages from Mara got shorter.
Him: "Saw a mural today that looked like your office."
Her: "Cool."
Him: "Are you eating okay?"
Her: "Yep. Busy."
He told himself it was the city hall beat. She’d just gotten promoted.
He didn’t tell her about Lina. Not because anything happened. Because he didn’t know how to explain that Lina was the only person he talked to who didn’t ask him to be okay.
One night Lina knocked with two cups of tea.
"You can talk or not talk," she said. "But don’t sit here alone."
They talked until 3am. About divorce. About leaving. About why people run.
When he went to bed he felt lighter. Like he’d put something down.
He still didn’t text Mara about it.
*Week 6: The Email That Wasn’t From Her*
Subject: Re: Mara
It was from her editor, Kiko.
"Elias, Mara asked me to reach out. She’s okay. She just needs space. She asked me not to give you her new number yet."
He read it five times. Space.
He went to the river and took 200 photos of water. Deleted all of them.
That night he wrote an email he never sent:
_Mara, I’m coming home. I’m done running. If you’ll let me, I want to try again. For real this time._
He saved it in drafts.
*Week 7-8: Greece*
The assignment moved to Athens. It was harder. Hotter. More people, less time.
He worked 12 hour days. He stopped checking his phone every hour. He started checking it every three hours. Then once a day.
Lina and he became close in the way people do in crisis. Not romantic. More like siblings in a war. She covered his shift when he got food poisoning. He carried her gear when her back hurt.
People assumed things. He let them. It was easier than explaining.
He took a photo of a little girl drawing a house. She told him through a translator: "This is where I will live when we are safe."
He thought of Mara’s house in Quezon City. Same house her whole life.
*Week 9: The Decision*
Daniela offered an extension. Three more months. Go to Italy next.
He said yes before he thought. Because saying yes was easier than going home to an apartment that would be empty.
He wrote Mara another draft: _I’m coming home in December. Can we talk?_
He didn’t send it.
*Week 10: Coming Home*
The last night in Lisbon he packed the same two suitcases. He left the key to his apartment on the counter.
On the flight he slept for the first time in weeks.
He landed in Manila at dawn. Turned his phone on.
No messages from Mara.
One message from an unknown number: "Hey man. We should talk. -Jon"
He didn’t know who Jon was until he opened his email later that day.
Mara’s email. Short.
_Elias, I’m seeing someone. I’m sorry. I waited as long as I could. I don’t know who we are anymore._
He read it in baggage claim.
He replied with three words: "I understand. Take care."
Then he turned his phone off and got a taxi.
*Back in Cubao*
His apartment was the same. Dusty. Her hoodie still in the bag he’d left behind.
He didn’t go to KapeTayo for a month.
He started teaching photography to teenagers on weekends. He told them: "Take pictures of what you’re afraid to lose."
He stopped taking photos of doors.
At night he’d wake up at 5am. The time the bakery used to start in Lisbon. He’d make coffee and look at the red door photo.
He never deleted the draft emails.
- Writer
