PENELOPE
I landed yesterday, and everything has felt strange ever since.
The city was the same—noisy, fast, familiar—but I wasn’t. I was moving in slow motion, like I’d left a part of myself back in Greece. Maybe I had.
Jess showed up unannounced this evening with two bottles of wine, her overnight bag, and a giant box of chocolate donuts. She took one look at me—curled up in an oversized hoodie, hair in a loose bun, eyes probably still puffed from the four-hour nap I forced myself to take—and said, “Nope. We’re fixing this.”
So now, we were both sprawled on my couch, surrounded by wine glasses, donut crumbs, and my favorite fuzzy blanket. Some romcoms were playing on mute in the background, but we weren’t paying attention.
“Okay,” Jess said, resting her feet on the coffee table. “Spi
