Our Last Goodbye
1608 Words
The hotel lobby felt colder than before. Or maybe it was just me, standing there, staring at his suitcase like it was some kind of villain stealing him away from me.
He was talking to the receptionist, finalizing everything before heading to the airport. I could barely focus on the words exchanged—I only heard the sound of my own heartbeat, drumming loudly in my ears.
This was it.
No more delaying the inevitable. No more pretending that time wasn’t slipping away.
He turned to me, his eyes softer than I’d ever seen them. “Ready to go?”
No. I wasn’t.
But I nodded anyway.
The ride to the airport was painfully quiet. My hand was in his, but it wasn’t enough to stop the ache spreading through my chest. Every passing minute felt like sand slipping through my fingers—no matter how hard I tried to hold on, it just kept falling.
He glanced at me, his thumb absentmindedly rubbing circles against my skin. “Talk to me, baby.”
I forced a small smile, even though my throat burned with the effort of keeping my emotions in check. “I don’t know what to say.”
He chuckled lightly, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “That’s the second time you’ve said that today.”
I sighed, leaning my head against the window. “Maybe because I’m scared that if I start talking, I won’t stop.”
“Then don’t stop.” His voice was gentle, reassuring. “Say everything you want to say.”
I hesitated, swallowing the lump in my throat. “I just… I don’t want this to be the last time.”
His grip on my hand tightened. “It won’t be.”
I wanted to believe him. I really did.
But the fear of distance, of time, of life getting in the way—it was suffocating.
When we arrived at the airport, the goodbye became real.
I watched as he checked in his luggage, as he double-checked his flight details, as the minutes slipped away too fast for my liking.
And then suddenly, we were standing in front of each other, at the very edge of our time together.
I forced myself to look at him, memorizing every detail—the warmth in his brown eyes, the way his lips curved in that soft, knowing smile, the way his presence alone made me feel safe.
“Sam…” My voice wavered, barely above a whisper. “What if—”
He didn’t let me finish. Instead, he pulled me into his arms, wrapping me in the kind of hug that made time stand still.
My arms tightened around him, desperately trying to memorize how it felt to be this close, to be his.
His lips pressed against my forehead. “Wherever you are,” he whispered, the same words he had told me earlier, “I will find you.”
I closed my eyes, letting the weight of his promise settle deep in my heart. But no matter how comforting his words were, my heart refused to believe them fully.
Because goodbyes were still goodbyes.
And sometimes, no matter how much two people want to stay, life has a way of pulling them apart.
I stood there, frozen, watching as he went through the final security check. Each step he took felt like a knife slowly sinking into my chest. My heart pounded so loudly I could barely hear the airport announcements, the chatter of people around me, the hurried footsteps of travelers rushing to their gates.
It was just him.
And the distance growing between us.
He didn’t look back right away. Maybe he was afraid to. Maybe he knew that if he saw me one last time, he wouldn’t want to leave.
I held my breath.
Then, just before he disappeared beyond the glass barriers, he turned around.
Our eyes met.
In that moment, time didn’t just slow—it shattered.
His gaze was soft, but there was something else there. Something unspoken. A silent apology? A quiet promise? I couldn’t tell. I could only see the man I had spent the past fifteen days with, the man who had made me laugh, made me feel safe, made me believe—only to now leave me standing here, feeling empty.
He lifted his hand in a final wave, his lips curling into a faint, bittersweet smile.
And that was it.
My throat tightened. My hands trembled.
I blinked, and he was gone.
It hit me like a crashing wave.
I choked on a sob, my legs threatening to give out beneath me. The airport suddenly felt too big, too lonely. I turned away, walking blindly through the crowd as the tears finally spilled over, unstoppable.
The realization clawed at me, sinking deep into my bones—he was really gone.
I had held it together for as long as I could, but now, there was nothing left to hold. The pain, the ache, the loneliness—I let it consume me.
Airports—they hold the happiest reunions, but they also carry the most heartbreaking goodbyes.
And this one shattered me.
—
Fast forward, and I was home.
But nothing felt like home.
The space felt empty, suffocatingly quiet. The past fifteen days had been filled with his presence—his voice, his warmth, his laughter. Now, there was just silence.
For the first time in a long while, I had no schedule to follow, no job to keep me occupied. Just waiting. Waiting for my exam results to come out in two months. Waiting for time to pass. Waiting for something—anything—to distract me from the hollow feeling in my chest.
I lay on my bed, staring at my phone, checking for any message.
Nothing.
I reminded myself that he was still on the plane. That I just had to be patient.
But patience had never been my strength.
Twenty-four hours passed.
Still no text.
My stomach twisted. Anxiety crept in, whispering doubts into my already fragile mind.
What if he forgot about me the moment he left?
What if something happened to him?
What if I was just a passing moment in his life, while he had become something permanent in mine?
The “what ifs” were relentless, clawing at my sanity.
I needed to breathe. I needed to move.
So I got up, forcing myself to clean my room, rearrange my stuff, wipe down every surface—anything to keep myself from thinking.
But no matter how much I distracted myself, the silence remained.
And silence had never felt this loud.
I woke up to the familiar sound of clattering pots and the sizzle of something frying in the kitchen. The scent of garlic and eggs wafted through the air, wrapping me in a sense of home.
My mother was up early, cooking breakfast—just like she always did.
I sighed, lying still for a moment, staring at the ceiling. The weight in my chest hadn't lifted, not even after a night's sleep. If anything, it felt heavier.
I turned to my side, instinctively reaching for my phone on the bedside table. My fingers curled around it, my heart hammering with anticipation.
Please.
My thumb hovered over the screen as it lit up.
Nothing.
No missed calls. No messages. No name flashing across my notifications.
Just silence.
The disappointment settled in like a dull ache.
It had been more than a day now. Twenty-four hours of waiting, of battling my own thoughts, of wondering if I had become just another fleeting memory to him.
I swallowed back the lump in my throat, forcing myself to push the phone aside.
I had to move. I had to breathe.
Dragging myself out of bed, I walked to the kitchen, where my mother stood by the stove, humming softly as she flipped an egg. Her presence alone was comforting—steady, familiar, safe.
We weren’t rich. I didn’t grow up in luxury or privilege. But I never felt like I lacked anything, because my family had always been filled with love. We were close, bound by something deeper than material wealth.
And as the youngest, I had always been at the center of it. I had always been the one receiving the most attention, the most love.
Yet, in that moment, surrounded by warmth and familiarity, I still felt incomplete.
I sat down at the table, barely touching my food, my mind still elsewhere. My mother noticed, of course. She always did. But she didn’t say anything—just placed more rice on my plate, a quiet way of telling me to eat.
I forced a smile, picking at my food half-heartedly.
Then—
Beep.
My fork clattered against the plate.
My breath caught in my throat.
I froze, my pulse hammering as my eyes darted to my phone.
His name.
It was his name on my screen.
My vision blurred, and for a second, I thought I was imagining it.
I grabbed my phone with trembling hands, my heart slamming against my ribs. A small gasp escaped my lips, a sound so raw with relief and excitement that my mother turned to look at me, startled.
I wanted to scream. I wanted to cry.
After hours of silence, after drowning in doubt and uncertainty—he was there.
I wasn’t forgotten.
I clutched the phone to my chest, blinking away the tears that threatened to fall. My mother smiled knowingly, shaking her head as she turned back to the stove.
She didn’t have to ask.
She already knew.
- Writer
