The Distance Between Us

The first thing Elena Moreau noticed about leaving home was how strangely quiet everything felt. Not actually quiet. Her younger brothers had been arguing downstairs for the last ten minutes about who had stolen whose headphones, her little sister was running through the hallway in socks, and her mother had already called her name three times. Yet somehow, Elena felt as though she were standing inside a silence of her own. She sat on the edge of her bed in Lyon, staring at the open suitcase in front of her. Two sweaters. Jeans. A pair of sneakers. Books she probably wouldn't have time to read. A small framed photograph of her family. And, tucked carefully between two folded shirts, the letter that had changed everything. Congratulations, Elena Moreau. Westbridge University. North Carolina, United States. The words still looked slightly unreal. She had read the acceptance letter so many times that she knew most of it by heart. She had imagined the campus, the classrooms, the dormitory, the people. She had imagined America. What she hadn't imagined was this part. Leaving. Elena glanced around her bedroom. The pale walls. The desk beside the window. The stack of notebooks arranged almost perfectly in one corner. The small collection of novels her father had given her over the years. Everything was familiar. Everything belonged to her. And tomorrow, none of it would be within walking distance. Her phone vibrated on the bed. Maman: Elena, we're leaving soon. She smiled faintly. Of course. Her mother had said the same thing fifteen minutes ago. Elena zipped one side of her suitcase and stood. For the first time, the reality of it settled heavily in her chest. She wasn't going away for a holiday. She wasn't visiting America. She was moving there. For college. For years. She took one last look at her room. Then she whispered to herself, "Okay." She picked up her suitcase. "Let's go." By the time Elena reached the ground floor, the argument about the headphones had become a family trial. "Tell her!" her youngest brother shouted. "I didn't take them," his older brother replied. "You were the last person in my room." "That doesn't mean I took them." "It literally does." Elena stopped halfway down the stairs. Her father stood near the front door with his arms folded, watching the argument with the exhausted expression of a man who had long ago accepted that logic had no authority in his household. Her mother was beside him, checking Elena's passport for the third time. "Everything is packed?" she asked. "Yes." "Passport?" "Yes." "Admission documents?" "Yes." "Phone charger?" "Yes." "Adapter?" Elena paused. Her mother immediately narrowed her eyes. "Elena." "I packed it." "Where?" "In the suitcase." "Which suitcase?" "The black one." Her mother opened the suitcase. Elena sighed. "Okay. Maybe I didn't." Her father laughed quietly. "She's going to America, and you've already lost her charger." "I haven't lost anything," Elena said. Her mother pulled the adapter from a drawer. "You forgot this." "I was going to remember." "Of course you were." Elena smiled despite herself. This was what she was going to miss. Not the house itself. Not the familiar streets. This. The noise. The interruptions. Her mother's endless questions. Her brothers arguing over things that would probably seem completely meaningless tomorrow. Her little sister suddenly appeared beside her and wrapped both arms around Elena's waist. "You're really leaving?" Elena looked down at her. "Yes." "For how long?" "A while." "How long is a while?" Elena crouched. "Long enough for you to miss me." Her sister frowned. "I already miss you." That nearly broke her. Elena hugged her tightly. Behind them, her brothers had finally forgotten about the headphones. One of them looked at Elena. "Don't become American." She raised an eyebrow. "What does that mean?" "I don't know." "Then why did you say it?" He shrugged. "Just don't." Everyone laughed. For a few minutes, the fear disappeared. There was only her family. Home. And the strange feeling that this ordinary morning would become one of those memories she would remember years later with painful clarity. Then her father's phone rang. The laughter faded. He glanced at the screen, and something in his expression changed. "Who is it?" Elena asked. He didn't answer immediately. Her mother noticed too. She stopped folding the passport documents and looked at him. "What's wrong?" Her father turned away from the children and answered the call. "Hello?" For a moment, there was only silence. Then his face tightened. "Yes, this is her father." Elena felt the warmth drain from her hands. Her mother stepped closer. "What happened?" Her father listened, his eyes fixed on the open doorway. "No," he said slowly. "She hasn't left yet." Elena's heart began to beat faster. The airport shuttle was supposed to arrive in less than twenty minutes. Her flight was already confirmed. Her bags were packed. Her entire future was waiting on the other side of the ocean. Her father ended the call. "Who was that?" Elena asked. He looked at her, and for the first time that morning, he didn't seem tired or amused. He looked afraid. "It was the university." Elena stood up. "What about it?" Her father glanced at her mother before answering. "They said there's a problem with your admission." The house went completely quiet. Even her brothers stopped arguing. Elena stared at him. "What kind of problem?" Her father opened his mouth, but no words came out. Then his phone rang again. This time, the number was unknown. And beneath it, a message appeared on the screen. Don't get on the plane.