Chapter 7 : Selected Places
1333 Words
Lica stepped closer.
Slowly.
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She stood in front of the door.
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And for the first time—
She didn't compare.
Didn't remember.
Didn't fear.
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She simply…
Was.
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Her hand lifted.
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Hesitant.
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A little.
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Then—
Knocked.
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The knock sounded clear.
Real.
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A few seconds passed.
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The door opened.
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A woman stood there.
Around her thirties.
Her gaze was calm.
⸻
"Yes?" she said.
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Lica looked at her.
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For a few seconds—
She didn't know what to say.
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Then—
She remembered.
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Not who she used to be.
Not where she came from.
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But—
What she chose now.
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"I…" her voice was soft.
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She took a breath.
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"I'm looking for a place to stay."
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The woman looked at her.
For a few seconds.
⸻
Not judging.
Not suspicious.
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Just—
Seeing.
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"Are you alone?" she asked.
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Lica nodded.
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Silence.
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Then—
The woman opened the door wider.
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"There's an empty room here," she said.
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Lica froze.
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That simple?
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"If you want… you can stay."
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Lica looked at her.
⸻
No long conditions.
No complicated questions.
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Just—
A choice.
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Her tears almost fell.
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"Why?" she asked.
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The woman smiled faintly.
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"Because you knocked."
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That sentence—
Simple.
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But it struck deeper than anything.
⸻
Lica let out a small laugh.
With tears.
⸻
"Thank you," she said.
⸻
She stepped inside.
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And this time—
Nothing stopped her.
⸻
Nothing erased her.
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She truly entered.
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The house was warm.
Not because of memory.
Not because of the past.
⸻
But because—
She chose to be there.
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Days began to pass.
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Lica lived in that house.
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She helped cook.
Clean.
Talk.
Be silent.
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Not everything was perfect.
Sometimes awkward.
Sometimes quiet.
Sometimes confusing.
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But—
She stayed.
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And something began to change.
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Not the world.
⸻
Herself.
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She began to know people.
Began to be remembered.
Began to become a small part of something.
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And for the first time—
She didn't feel like a guest.
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She felt…
Present.
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But—
One night—
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As she sat alone in her room—
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An old feeling returned.
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Subtle.
But real.
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Fear.
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"Will this disappear too?" she whispered.
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She looked at her hands.
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Still there.
Still real.
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But—
She had felt this before.
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And she knew—
Everything could change.
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Lica closed her eyes.
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Remembering.
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Raka.
Her mother.
Her old home.
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Everything she had once had.
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Everything she had lost.
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Tears fell.
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She clenched her own hands.
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"If this disappears…" she whispered,
"will I be strong again?"
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No answer.
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Only her heartbeat.
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And for the first time—
She didn't run from the question.
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She faced it.
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"If this disappears…" she repeated,
"I will still choose again."
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The sentence felt strange.
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But true.
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Because now—
She knew.
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Home is not something she finds once.
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Home is something she builds.
Again and again.
With risk.
With loss.
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And that—
Did not make her weak.
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It made her—
Alive.
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Lica opened her eyes.
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For the first time—
She smiled without fear.
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But—
Within her—
One final question remained.
⸻
Calmer.
But deeper.
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If I can finally stay…
if I can finally build something…
am I truly ready to call it home—
or will I still hesitate… and lose everything before I truly have it?
The question lingered.
Not as sharp as before.
Not as frightening.
But… present.
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Lica sat there for a long time.
Not searching for an answer.
Not forcing herself to understand.
Just… letting the question exist.
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The room around her was quiet.
Soft shadows rested against the walls. The faint sound of someone moving in the other room—dishes, footsteps, life—flowed gently through the space.
It didn't overwhelm her.
It didn't disappear.
⸻
It stayed.
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Lica exhaled slowly.
⸻
For so long, she had believed that certainty was what made something real.
That if something could be lost, it wasn't worth holding.
That if something could break, it wasn't safe to choose.
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But now—
Sitting there—
She realized something else.
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Everything could be lost.
Everything could change.
Everything could end.
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And yet—
That didn't make it meaningless.
⸻
Her fingers loosened slightly.
The tension she didn't realize she had been holding began to fade.
⸻
Maybe the fear would never fully disappear.
Maybe the doubt would always return.
⸻
But that didn't mean she had to run.
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Lica stood up.
Slowly.
⸻
Her steps were quiet as she walked toward the window.
She pushed it open.
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Cool night air entered the room.
Fresh.
Alive.
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She looked outside.
The street was dimly lit. A few lights still on. A distant voice. Someone laughing softly.
Nothing extraordinary.
Nothing perfect.
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Just… life continuing.
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Lica rested her hand on the window frame.
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"I might lose this someday," she murmured.
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The words felt heavy.
But not unbearable.
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She took a breath.
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"But I'm still here now."
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That part—
Was enough.
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Not forever.
Not guaranteed.
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But real.
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Lica closed her eyes for a moment.
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She didn't imagine another world.
Didn't wonder where she might go next.
Didn't prepare herself to leave.
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For the first time—
She allowed herself to stay.
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Not because it was safe.
Not because it would last.
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But because she chose to.
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Her eyes opened again.
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The fear was still there.
Quiet.
Lingering.
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But it no longer controlled her.
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Lica stepped back from the window.
Turned.
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And walked deeper into the room.
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Into the life she was beginning to build.
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Not certain.
Not permanent.
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But hers.
The days passed without feeling like a journey.
That was the first thing Lica realized.
There were no leaps in time.
No distortions of reality.
No system voice reminding her of limits or risks.
Only… days.
Morning came.
She woke up.
Helped in the kitchen.
Spoke when needed.
Sometimes laughed softly.
Sometimes stayed silent for too long.
Night came.
She sat by the window.
Watched the city lights.
Listened to the sounds of life.
And for the first time—
She did not count time.
What day was it for her here?
She didn't know.
And strangely—
She didn't need to know.
"Lica, can you help me for a moment?"
The woman's voice—the owner of the house—came from the kitchen.
Her name was Mira.
Lica had learned it a few days after staying there.
Or maybe longer.
She wasn't sure.
"Yes," Lica replied.
She walked into the kitchen.
Mira was cutting vegetables.
Her movements were relaxed.
Unhurried.
"Please get that pot," she said.
Lica nodded.
A small movement.
A simple task.
But that was where something began to form.
Not a grand relationship.
Not a dramatic bond.
Just—
Habit.
And from that habit—
Something deeper began to grow.
"Thank you," Mira said as Lica handed her the pot.
Lica gave a small nod.
Before—
Words like that felt ordinary.
Now—
They felt meaningful.
That night, they ate together.
Not much conversation.
None was needed.
Silence no longer felt empty.
Lica realized something.
She was no longer constantly thinking about her old home.
No longer imagining that white fence.
No longer trying to remember her mother's voice perfectly.
The memories were still there.
But—
They no longer pulled her away.
She stayed here.
And that was her choice.
Yet—
- Writer
