Letting You Go in Alaska

Chapter 1: Interim

Hale's Pov

With headphones resting over my ears, I sit by the glass wall of NAIA Terminal, watching planes arrive and leave like they have somewhere they belong to. The runway lights stretch into the distance, steady and unmoving, even as everything else shifts around them.

I check my phone out of habit, not because I expect anything new. No messages. No missed calls. Just the time staring back at me, moving forward whether I'm ready or not.

I let out a quiet breath.

At least, even for a short while... I want to rest.

The thought settles heavier than I expect. It doesn't feel like a want. It feels like something I've been putting off for too long.

Expectations.

Pressure.

Stress.

Fatigue.

They don't come all at once. They build. Slowly. Quietly. Until one day, you realize you've been carrying more than you should have.

I lean back slightly in my seat, eyes drifting toward the people passing by. Families talking over each other. Travelers moving with purpose. Others sitting like me, waiting for something to begin.

Or maybe... waiting to leave something behind.

October 23, 20xx.

Two weeks.

That's all this is.

Two weeks might be enough to loosen whatever it is I've been holding onto. Not fix it. Not solve anything. Just... make it quieter.

The screen above the gate flashes the details of my flight. Destination: Anchorage, Alaska. Estimated travel time: twenty-six hours.

Long enough to be away.

Not long enough to disappear.

I close my eyes for a moment, letting the noise of the terminal dull behind the music playing through my headphones. It doesn't take long before the silence I was trying to reach gets interrupted by something else.

Voices.

Familiar ones.

Not here.

Just... remembered.

"There's no future in that!"

"Art won't feed you!"

"It's fine as a hobby, but not as a career."

The words don't come loudly. They don't need to. I've heard them enough times that they don't have to be said anymore.

They stay.

Even when everything else doesn't.

I open my eyes.

The ceiling above me looks the same as it did a few seconds ago. Nothing changed. Nothing ever does when it's all happening inside your head.

Fine arts.

I chose it knowing it wouldn't be easy.

I just didn't expect it to feel like I was choosing against something else every time I defended it.

My family isn't wrong.

That's the part that makes it harder.

They're practical. Realistic. They see things the way they are, not the way I want them to be.

We're well off, but not enough to waste time chasing something uncertain. Not enough to fail without consequence.

I understand that.

I just wish understanding it made it easier.

I rest my elbows on my knees, hands loosely clasped together as I look down at the floor. For a moment, I try not to think about anything.

It doesn't last.

It never does.

A soft chime cuts through the air, followed by a voice echoing through the terminal.

"Attention passengers, this is the final call for Flight PR___ bound for Anchorage, Alaska. We are now boarding all remaining passengers at Gate ___. Please proceed to the boarding gate immediately."

My flight.

Boarding begins.

I straighten slightly, reaching for my bag without rushing. There's no reason to. The plane isn't leaving without me.

Or maybe it will.

It wouldn't be the first time something moved forward without waiting.

I stand, adjusting the strap of my bag over my shoulder before picking up my luggage. The movement feels automatic, like my body already knows what to do even if my mind is still somewhere else.

People begin forming a line at the gate. I take my place without thinking too much about it, eyes drifting ahead, then briefly to the side, taking in the small details without holding onto any of them.

Footsteps.

Announcements.

The low hum of conversations blending together.

It all feels distant.

Like I'm already somewhere else.

The line moves forward.

Step by step.

Slow enough to notice.

Fast enough that you don't question it.

When it's my turn, I hand over my boarding pass, offering a small nod when it's returned to me. No words. None needed.

I walk past the gate, past the threshold that separates waiting from leaving.

And then—

My foot catches something.

It's small enough that I almost miss it, but not enough to ignore. I stop, shifting my weight slightly before looking down.

A keychain.

A sunflower.

It rests on the floor like it was dropped in a hurry, bright against the neutral tones of the terminal. Out of place.

I pick it up.

The metal is cool against my fingers, the small charm swaying slightly as I lift it. It's simple. Nothing expensive. Nothing special.

And yet—

it doesn't feel like something meant to be left behind.

I turn it slightly between my fingers, the petals catching the light for a brief second before settling again.

"...sunflower, huh."

The words leave me quietly, more to myself than anything else.

It's a strange kind of brightness.

Something that doesn't belong in a place like this.

Or maybe it does.

Maybe it's just... not mine.

For a second, I glance around, half-expecting someone to notice it's missing. No one does. People keep moving. Conversations continue. Nothing pauses long enough to acknowledge it.

No one comes back for it.

I look at it one more time before closing my hand around it.

"I wish this trip could be as sunny as you are."

It's a quiet thought.

Almost meaningless.

But it stays a little longer than it should.

I slip the keychain into my pocket.

Not because I plan to keep it.

Just... for now.

I take a breath, deeper this time, letting it settle before I move again.

Then I walk forward.

Through the gate.

Through the narrow corridor leading to the plane.

Each step feels the same as the last, steady and unchanging, like I'm following something already decided.

The cabin greets me with dim lighting and controlled air, the quiet murmur of passengers settling into their seats filling the space. I move down the aisle, counting rows without thinking, until I reach mine.

Window seat.

I place my bag in the overhead compartment and sit down, adjusting slightly until I'm comfortable enough not to notice it anymore.

Outside, the runway lights stretch into the distance.

Unmoving.

Certain.

For a moment, I just watch.

No thoughts.

No expectations.

Just... watching.

The seatbelt clicks into place.

The engine hum deepens.

And slowly—

almost unnoticeably—

we begin to move.

*****

Elara's pov

"You're overplanning again."

I say it without looking at her, but I can already hear Sophie gasp beside me like I just insulted something personal.

"I am not," she insists, flipping through her notes on her phone like it's a life-or-death itinerary. "This is called being prepared!"

"That's your third version of the same plan," Hannah adds, leaning back in her seat with a quiet laugh. "At this point, Alaska might adjust to you."

Laine hums in agreement, already leaning forward, eyes bright. "Okay but what if we do both? Like, we follow Sophie's plan for the morning, then we explore randomly in the afternoon. And then maybe—oh!—we try that dog sledding thing on the second day instead?"

"There it is," I say, finally turning to look at them, a smile already forming before I can stop it. "You're enabling her."

"I'm improving it," Laine corrects.

Sophie beams. "See? Someone understands me."

Hannah just shakes her head, but she's smiling too.

I don't say anything after that. I don't need to.

Just watching them is enough.

The terminal feels colder than usual, or maybe that's just me imagining things already. Alaska has been sitting at the back of my mind for weeks now, slowly turning into something real the closer this day got. I can almost picture it—the snow, the air, the kind of quiet you don't get back home.

It feels... different.

In a good way.

"Hey, Elara."

I glance at Sophie. "Yeah?"

"What are you most excited about?" she asks, leaning closer like my answer actually matters to her.

I think about it for a second.

Not too long.

"The cold," I say.

She blinks. "That's it?"

I shrug lightly. "We don't get that here. I just want to feel it."

Laine laughs softly. "That's such a you answer."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You like things you've never experienced before," she says, like it's obvious. "You don't overthink it. You just... go."

I tilt my head slightly, considering it.

Maybe she's right.

Maybe I just don't like staying in the same place for too long.

Before I can say anything else, a soft chime cuts through the noise of the terminal. All of us instinctively look up toward the overhead speakers.

"Attention passengers, this is the boarding call for Flight PR___ bound for Anchorage, Alaska. Passengers are now invited to proceed to Gate ___ for boarding. Please have your boarding passes ready."

Sophie grabs my arm immediately. "That's us."

"I know."

But I'm already standing.

Laine's already halfway ahead of us, turning back with that same excited look she's had since we got here. "Come on, come on, we're not missing this."

"We're not going to miss it," Hannah says, but she's laughing as she stands too.

There's something about the moment that makes everything feel lighter. The waiting is over. The plans, the talking, the imagining—it's all turning into something real now.

We fall into step together, moving with the crowd but somehow still in our own little space. Sophie keeps talking, her voice carrying over the noise like she hasn't run out of things to say since we arrived.

"And when we land, we should definitely take pictures immediately, like first-step-in-Alaska kind of pictures, okay? And then maybe we can—"

"You're not stopping, are you?" I ask.

"No."

"Okay."

I smile.

We reach the boarding gate faster than I expect. Everything feels like it's moving quickly now, but not in a stressful way. Just... forward.

We hand over our boarding passes, one after another, the small beeps confirming something official, something final.

And then we're through.

No turning back.

We walk down the corridor, the air shifting slightly as we move further away from the noise of the terminal. It's quieter here. More contained.

I like it.

"Wait."

Hannah stops suddenly behind me.

I turn. "What?"

She looks down at her bag, then pats her pockets quickly. "My keychain."

"What about it?"

"It's not here."

Sophie pauses mid-sentence. "What do you mean not here?"

"My sunflower one," Hannah says, her voice dropping slightly. "It was attached to this." She lifts her bag a little. "I had it earlier."

Laine glances back toward the terminal instinctively. "Maybe you dropped it back there?"

Hannah frowns. "I didn't notice..."

For a moment, she just stands there, clearly thinking about it.

I step closer and gently ruffle her hair.

"Hey."

She looks at me.

"It's okay," I say, smiling lightly. "We'll just get you another one. Maybe an even better one."

She hesitates.

"...yeah?"

"Yeah."

There's a small pause.

Then she nods.

"Okay."

"Okay," I repeat.

Sophie claps once, like that settles it. "See? Problem solved. Now come on, we're boarding."

Hannah lets out a small breath, then follows.

And just like that, we keep moving.

The cabin greets us with dim lighting and that familiar, contained atmosphere of a long flight waiting to begin. People are already settling in, adjusting bags, finding seats, speaking in low voices that blend together into a steady hum.

We move down the aisle, checking the numbers as we go.

"This is us," Laine says, stopping.

We shift around each other slightly, adjusting bags, stepping aside, figuring out who sits where without really needing to say it out loud.

Sophie takes the aisle seat, already too energized to sit still, her movements quick and restless like she might start talking again any second. I take the seat beside her, while Hannah and Laine settle across from us.

I barely have time to get comfortable before I feel Laine nudge my arm.

"Hey."

I glance at her. "What?"

She tilts her head subtly toward Sophie.

I follow her gaze.

Sophie isn't looking at us.

She's looking to her side.

More specifically—

at the guy sitting next to her.

Her eyes widen slightly when she notices me watching. She immediately mouths something.

"He smells nice."

I pause.

Then she adds, slower this time, like she needs to make sure I understand—

"And he's cute."

I almost laugh.

I don't—but it's close.

I shift my gaze just enough to take a look without making it obvious.

He's wearing a hoodie, the hood slightly pulled over his head, a face mask covering most of his features. Headphones rest over his ears, and he doesn't seem to notice anything around him.

Quiet.

Still.

The kind of presence that doesn't ask for attention.

But somehow still draws it.

I let my gaze linger for a moment longer than I intend to.

His features are mostly hidden, but not entirely. The line of his nose stands out first—sharp, clean, almost sculpted. His skin is pale under the cabin light, and his eyelashes are longer than expected, catching the light briefly when he shifts.

He looks calm.

Or maybe just distant.

Like he's somewhere else entirely.

I don't think he's aware of anything happening around him.

I glance back at Sophie.

She's still staring.

I mouth back, "Lucky you."

She grins like that's all the confirmation she needed.

I shake my head lightly, a small smile slipping through, then settle back into my seat.

The cabin noise slowly evens out—voices lowering, movements settling, everything falling into place before takeoff.

For a moment, I just sit there.

Breathing.

Thinking.

Not too much.

Just enough.

Alaska.

The thought feels different now.

Closer.

More real than it was earlier.

I let out a quiet breath, a small smile forming without me realizing it.

This trip... I'm going to make the most out of it.

No expectations.

No pressure.

Just... experience.

I glance briefly toward the window, though there's nothing much to see yet, then look ahead again.

Steady.

Calm.

Certain in a quiet way.

With a boyfriend or not—

I'll make this trip worth it!

*****

End of Chapter 1