Departure
1461 Words
The phone rang three times before he finally answered.
Élise’s breath caught in her throat — for a moment, she couldn’t speak.
She only listened, and in that silence, she heard it — the soft exhale she’d memorized.
Then his voice, calm but heavy:
— “Élise…”
Her voice trembled.
— “Emir… where are you?”
There was a pause.
Behind him, faint announcements echoed — the sterile hum of an airport terminal, the metallic voice of a woman over the speakers:
“Flight 219 to Istanbul now boarding at Gate 17.”
Élise’s heart stopped.
— “Are you… are you at the airport?” she whispered.
He hesitated. Then quietly:
— “Yes. My flight leaves in an hour.”
She froze. Her hand gripped the phone tighter, her pulse racing.
— “What are you talking about? Why? Where are you going?”
— “To Istanbul,” he said softly.
— “I can’t stay here anymore. I handed in the apartment keys, sold the car.
It’s over, Élise.”
She stood abruptly, pacing across the room.
Outside, rain struck the windows, tracing silver veins down the glass.
— “Don’t go,” she breathed. The words escaped like a prayer.
— “Please, Emir, don’t go.”
His voice faltered — just a fraction.
Then steadied.
— “I have to.”
There was a long silence.
She could hear her own heartbeat through the receiver.
— “Why?” she whispered finally.
— “Because,” he said, pausing to find the words,
“there’s nothing left here for me.”
Her tears came silently, one by one.
— “You didn’t even tell me. Why didn’t you say something?”
— “Because I shouldn’t change your path,” he said softly.
— “I shouldn’t be in your life to begin with.
But… thank you.”
— “For what?”
His voice was low, almost tender:
— “For the last two days.
They were the best I’ve ever had in America.
Actually… that first day I met you — that alone was worth all my years here.”
Her lips trembled.
She wanted to speak, to scream, but the words wouldn’t come.
— “Emir, please, don’t do this, wait—”
But he was silent.
Then, quietly, almost as if smiling through the pain:
— “Goodbye, Élise.”
The line clicked.
The screen dimmed.
Call ended.
Élise stared at the phone, unmoving.
For a long moment, the only sound was the rain against the glass.
Then she sank onto the couch, hands trembling, eyes wide open.
Her world — the fame, the noise, the cameras — felt miles away.
There was only one thought, one heartbeat, one name echoing in her chest: Emir.
She stood abruptly.
Her reflection in the window looked like a ghost — hair messy, eyes wet, no makeup, just truth.
She went to her closet, pulled down a suitcase.
Her movements were clumsy but fast —
clothes, passport, notebook, charger, perfume — all thrown together without thinking.
Tears blurred her vision, but she kept packing.
Daniel’s shouting, Nina’s warnings, the headlines — none of it mattered anymore.
He was leaving.
And she wasn’t going to let him disappear.
“I can’t stay here anymore…”
The words replayed in her head, again and again.
She zipped the bag, took a breath, and whispered to her reflection:
— “Then I’m coming with you.”
She grabbed her phone, opened the airline app.
The next flight to Istanbul — 6:00 AM.
Fully booked.
She clicked Join waitlist.
The confirmation email arrived seconds later.
The city outside was still awake, but her world had gone quiet.
All that remained was motion — a woman chasing what she couldn’t explain.
As she rolled the suitcase toward the door,
her shadow stretched long across the hardwood floor,
like a ribbon connecting two continents.
She paused, looked back once —
at the apartment, at the life she was leaving behind —
and whispered:
— “Please let me be on that flight.”
Outside, the rain was still falling,
the sky low and heavy.
Somewhere beyond it,
a plane would soon rise — carrying the man who’d unknowingly taught her
what love without noise felt like.
And somewhere behind him,
a woman had just decided
to follow her heart across an ocean.
The phone slipped from her hand, landing softly on the couch.
The echo of his last words was still in the air.
“Goodbye, Élise.”
She stood there, frozen.
For the first time in years, she didn’t know what to do.
Then something inside her broke free — instinct, heart, madness, maybe all three.
She grabbed the phone again, scrolled furiously, typed into the search bar:
“Private Jet New York Charter.”
The first number — she dialed.
No answer.
Then the machine: “You’ve reached us outside business hours. Please leave a message.”
She ended the call, trembling.
— “No,” she whispered. “No, I can’t wait.”
Second number.
It rang twice.
A voice answered, calm and professional:
— “Good evening, Falcon Air. How can we assist you?”
She didn’t waste a second.
— “I need a jet to Istanbul. As soon as possible. How soon can you have one ready?”
There was a pause.
Keystrokes in the background.
— “Ma’am, it’s almost midnight. We’d need a pilot, clearance, refueling—”
— “I’ll pay whatever it takes,” she cut in sharply.
— “Just tell me how long.”
The voice hesitated.
Then came back, more focused now:
— “If you can be at Teterboro Airport within ninety minutes, we can have an aircraft ready for departure.”
Her breath hitched.
Ninety minutes.
His plane would be gone by then — already crossing the Atlantic.
But still… she had to try.
— “Alright,” she said firmly.
— “I’ll be there. Prepare everything. Payment upon arrival.”
— “Understood, ma’am. We’ll have the flight plan ready.”
The call ended.
For a moment, Élise stood in the middle of her living room — surrounded by silence, her heart hammering against her ribs.
She looked down at herself — still wearing Emir’s gray cardigan.
It smelled faintly of him.
She closed her eyes and drew in the scent, as if it could fill the emptiness.
“If you’re leaving… then so am I.”
She snatched her passport and purse, threw them into her handbag, and ran out.
The elevator doors opened; her reflection in the metal walls looked like a stranger — determined, reckless, alive.
Outside, the rain was steady, fine as silk.
She hailed the first cab she saw.
— “Teterboro Airport,” she said breathlessly.
The driver glanced in the mirror, recognition flickering in his eyes.
But she was not the Élise Moreau he’d seen on billboards.
Her expression was raw, almost fragile.
He just nodded and drove.
New York blurred past — glass towers, flashing signs, all fading into streaks of color.
In the backseat, Élise pressed her forehead to the window, eyes stinging.
The city she’d once conquered now felt impossibly far away.
Her voice cracked as she whispered:
— “Wait for me, Emir.”
⸻
By the time the taxi reached Teterboro, the runway lights shimmered like stars spilled across the ground.
A crewman in a navy coat hurried over.
— “Miss Moreau? We’re ready when you are. The weather’s clear all the way to Istanbul.”
She nodded, clutching her bag tighter.
Each step toward the plane felt like walking toward a decision she couldn’t undo.
At the stairs, she paused.
Above her, the sky stretched vast and black, dotted with distant lights.
Somewhere up there — maybe already halfway across the ocean — was the plane she should’ve been on.
She took a deep breath.
Her heels clicked softly on the steps.
Inside, the cabin lights glowed warm and golden.
She sank into the seat, exhaled slowly, and closed her eyes.
The engines hummed to life.
Outside, New York began to shrink —
a glittering map of the life she was leaving behind.
And as the jet lifted into the night, Élise whispered to herself:
— “For once, I’m not running away. I’m following my heart.”
The clouds swallowed the city, and the world below dissolved into darkness.
But inside, a small light remained — steady, quiet, and real.
The light of a woman who had finally chosen her own story.
And somewhere ahead, across the sea,
a man named Emir was about to discover
that love sometimes follows you — even through the sky.
- Writer
