Home Again

Rhys was saying goodbye to the Uber driver when he noticed the woman rushing towards them. She drew Sophie in for a hug, and she laughed loudly.

“It’s so good to see you, Sophie.” She squealed. Her eyes skimmed over Sophie’s figure, and she brought her hand to her lips as though she would cry.

Sophie just stood there, with no expression on her face.

“You’ve changed a lot.” The woman commented. “You look just like her if she were here now.” She sniffled, and her eyes immediately caught Rhys.  

Her mouth opened wide, and her eyes darted from Rhys to Sophie and back.

“Oh my!” She exclaimed, pinching Sophie. “You never told me you were getting married!”

“Oh… uhhhh. No ma’am. Sophie and I are not married. I am, uh, a friend of Sophie’s, Rhys.” He sputtered, stretching forth his hand.

The woman shook it eagerly. “A friend indeed. Nice meeting you, Rhys. Come on, Sophie, Adrian has been waiting for your arrival.”

Rhys felt Sophie stiffen beside him, but the woman had not noticed this. She walked before them, ushering them into the house and chattering to herself. Neither of them listened.

While Sophie had retired to the comfort of her mind, Rhys was too interested in looking at her. He had not failed to notice her lack of emotions when they arrived at the mansion, as well as her lack of communication.

She dragged their luggage behind them, following Sophie’s aunt as she led them.

Sophie sat in the dimly lit room, surrounded by the familiar creaks and whispers of the old house. Memories danced around her, weaving through the cracks in the walls like wisps of smoke. She closed her eyes, trying to hold on to the fragments of her past, but they slipped through her fingers like sand. She felt a sense of déjà vu settle over her.

The room was still the same as it was when she left it. Fading pink floral wallpaper draped the walls of the room, and the wooden linoleum creaked with her weight.

The window overlooked the forest path that led to the meadow; the only difference was that someone had built a small structure beside the road.

Not much had changed except her silent loathing for her uncle and the memories of him she had. That was not going to change anytime soon.

She longed to escape—to run far away from the suffocating grip of grief that threatened to consume her whole. But now, she was tethered to this place, bound by duty and obligation, unable to break free from the chains that held her prisoner.

As the hours stretched on, Sophie found herself drawn to the window, drawn to the soft glow of the moonlight filtering through the curtains. She pressed her forehead against the cool glass, seeking solace in the silent expanse of the night skyand the dancing leaves of the forest.

She longed to snatch up her notebook and run into the forest, as she used to do. She looked out the window once more, following the trails from the opening in the forest to the meadow in her head.

The meadow had been her favourite spot in the forest. It gave her the peace and quiet she needed to transfer her thoughts from her heavy heart to her notebook.

Then she would listen to the birds, watch them fly, and wish she had wings like them. When they sang, she tried to imitate them.

Every day, she would slip out after dinner. When the moon was low and her aunt had blown out the last of the candles, she would jump from her window and run barefoot into the forest to sit by the meadow and watch the moon dance in the water. Then the bird would come—it always came—it would start a tune, and Sophie would imitate until she began to get better at making sounds.

She wrote it in her notebook and on and on till she became perfect. The bird soon recognised her, or so she thought. She began to slip to the meadow every night to meet the bird and practice her singing. It was the only place she could be free until she had to leave.

As she stood by the window, a dress in hand, she thought of the bird and wondered if he would have missed their nightly sessions. Perhaps it was never the same bed every night, and they did not even know that she was there. Even if they knew, they could not care less, but those moments had been the ones that saved her and gave her something to live for.

She imagined herself climbing down her window, down the hedge, and landing barefoot on the grass, then running into the forest, not stopping till she reached the meadow.

A knock on her door brought her attention back to reality, and she returned to her bed. The door groaned open, and her aunt walked in.

The light from the full moon settled on her figure as she approached bed and lowered herself slowly on it. Sophie did not fail to notice the hints of old age that had begun to show in her appearance.

In five years, she had grown quite small, and her back bent a little. Her steps were slower, and more wrinkles had appeared on her face and hands.

Her aunt smiled, revealing tobacco-coloured teeth, and touched Sophie on the face.

“I’m happy you are back home.”

Home. Sophie thought. She could never have thought of this place as home. Home was her bakery. Home was where she found Rhys, at the top of the world. Home was far from this house.  

Sophie looked away. She eyed her bag again, and her aunt followed her eyes.

“You are still as stubborn.” She commented, reaching for the bag. “You will not talk to me? Even after all these years?”

Sophie cast her gaze down. Her aunt gave her the bag, gesturing with her head for her to take it. Her eyes pleaded, and her lips smiled sadly. Sophie moved back to the window.

Her aunt stood to her feet, dropping the bag back on the bed where she had picked it. “I guess I deserve it.”