Page 2
926 Words
Elena stared at the message.
For several seconds, she couldn't make sense of the words.
Not because they were complicated.
Because they were impossible.
Don't get on the plane.
Her father lowered the phone.
"Papa?"
He didn't answer.
"What's going on?"
Her mother reached for his arm.
"Tell her."
He looked at Elena.
"There has been some confusion with the university."
"What confusion?"
"We don't know yet."
Elena's eyes moved toward the clock on the wall.
The airport shuttle would be there soon.
Her flight wasn't something she could simply postpone.
Her entire life had been arranged around this day.
She had said goodbye to her teachers.
Her friends had wished her luck.
Her room had been packed.
Her university accommodation had been confirmed.
She had spent months preparing for Westbridge.
"Maybe it's a mistake," her mother said quickly.
Elena looked at her.
"Then why did they tell me not to get on the plane?"
Nobody answered.
Her youngest brother looked between them.
"Is Elena not going to America anymore?"
Elena barely heard him.
She stepped closer to her father.
"Call them back."
"I will."
"Now."
"I know."
"No, Papa. Now."
He looked at her for a moment before dialing the number.
Elena watched his face while the phone rang.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Then someone answered.
Her father immediately switched to English.
"Yes, I'm Elena Moreau's father. We just received a message concerning her admission."
Elena couldn't understand every word that followed.
Her father's English was usually effortless, but now he spoke too quickly, asking questions and repeating the university's name.
Westbridge.
Her stomach tightened.
Then he stopped.
"What?"
He listened.
His expression changed again.
"What do you mean the record was altered?"
Elena's breath caught.
Her mother looked at her.
Her father turned away.
"No, that's impossible. We received the official admission letter months ago."
Another pause.
"Then who changed it?"
Silence.
Her father's face became unreadable.
Finally, he said,
"Send me everything."
He ended the call.
Elena waited.
"What did they say?"
Her father looked at the phone in his hand.
"They're checking something."
"Checking what?"
He hesitated.
"Your student record."
Elena frowned.
"I don't understand."
Neither did he.
And somewhere in the distance, beyond the windows of their quiet street, a car horn sounded.
Her mother looked outside.
"The shuttle."
Elena's heart sank.
The driver had arrived.
Her suitcase stood beside the door.
Her passport was in her bag.
Her ticket was on her phone.
Everything was ready.
Except, apparently, the one thing that mattered most.
Her father picked up her suitcase.
"You're not going."
Elena stared at him.
For the first time since receiving her acceptance letter, she wondered whether America had ever been waiting for her at all.
[
The airport shuttle waited outside for nearly five minutes before the driver finally stepped out.
He glanced toward the house, then at his watch.
Elena stood behind the window, watching him.
She had imagined this moment differently.
She had imagined herself walking out with her suitcase, hugging her family one last time, getting into the car, and watching Lyon disappear behind her.
Instead, she was standing in the same house, staring at a suitcase that suddenly felt much heavier than it had ten minutes ago.
Her father was still on the phone.
Her mother kept pacing between the kitchen and the hallway.
Neither of them seemed to know what to do.
Elena finally turned around.
"I'm going."
Both parents looked at her.
Her father frowned.
"Elena—"
"No."
She shook her head.
"I'm going."
"You heard what they said."
"I heard what someone sent you."
"It was from the university."
"Then I'll find out what's happening when I get there."
Her father stared at her.
"That's not how this works."
"Then what am I supposed to do?"
She hated how close her voice sounded to breaking.
"Stay here and wait for someone in America to decide whether I'm allowed to attend a university I've already been accepted into?"
Her mother stepped toward her.
"Elena, we're not saying you can't go."
"Then let me go."
Silence.
Her father looked toward the window.
The driver was now standing beside the shuttle, clearly wondering whether the family had forgotten about him.
Finally, her father sighed.
"We're going to the airport."
Elena blinked.
"What?"
"We'll deal with this properly."
Her mother immediately looked at him.
"Are you sure?"
"No."
He picked up Elena's suitcase.
"But sitting here won't solve anything."
For the first time that morning, Elena smiled.
It wasn't a happy smile.
It was the kind of smile people made when they had no idea what else to do.
"Thank you."
Her father nodded.
"Come on."
The next few minutes passed strangely fast.
Her mother checked her passport again.
Her father loaded the luggage.
Her brothers suddenly became unusually quiet.
Her little sister followed Elena all the way to the front door.
Then she hugged her again.
"Call me when you get there."
"I will."
"Promise?"
"Promise."
Her brother called from behind them.
"Don't forget us when you become famous."
Elena laughed.
"I'll try."
Then she looked at the house.
One last time.
She didn't know it yet, but the moment she stepped outside, her life was already beginning to change.
Not because of the university.
Not because of America.
And certainly not because of some boy she hadn't even met.
It was changing because, somewhere across the Atlantic, a door had already opened.
Elena simply didn't know what was waiting behind it.
She picked up her passport.
And walked toward the car.
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