Finding light in the darkest places—through love-Chapter 99 – Before the Train Leaves
Chapter 99 - 99 – Before the Train Leaves
The house was quieter than usual.
It was early morning, and Evelyn was moving through the familiar halls with her suitcase in tow, careful not to knock over the umbrella stand or wake the dog. A light drizzle tapped gently at the windowpanes, blurring the gray-blue sky with streaks of spring rain. Her train wouldn't leave until mid-morning, but she'd always liked having time to sit and breathe before a goodbye.
The kitchen smelled of cinnamon and coffee when she entered.
Her mother stood by the stove, pouring batter into a pan, her hair still up in a sleep-mussed twist. The scene struck Evelyn as oddly domestic, peaceful—like a photograph from another decade.
"Morning," her mom said softly.
"Morning."
"You're early."
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"You're cooking," Evelyn returned.
Her mother cracked a smile. "I figured pancakes are more of a goodbye breakfast than toast."
Evelyn dropped her bag near the door and took a seat at the table. "I'll take it."
They didn't speak much as the pancakes cooked. It was a quiet rhythm—familiar, even if it had been a long time since they'd shared a morning like this without awkward silences hanging heavy in the air. Today's silence felt different. Lighter. Like a sigh, not a weight.
When her mother finally set a plate in front of her, Evelyn looked up and murmured, "Thanks."
"You sure you've got everything?" her mom asked, settling into the chair across from her. "Charger? Sweater? That folder you left in the guest room?"
"All packed." Evelyn smiled faintly. "I checked three times."
Her mother sipped her coffee, then let out a soft sigh.
"I know I was hard on you," she said. "And I'm still learning how to let go."
Evelyn didn't respond right away. She cut a piece of pancake and let the quiet hold them for a moment longer.
"I know you were just scared," she said finally. "I was too."
Her mom reached out, resting her fingers gently over Evelyn's hand. "You've grown, Evie. I see it. I don't always understand it... but I'm trying to."
It was the most honest thing her mother had said all week. Evelyn squeezed her hand back.
"That's enough," she said, and meant it.
Later That Morning
Her brother was waiting for her by the front steps, arms crossed and hood pulled up against the misting rain. He held her umbrella in one hand and a box of granola bars in the other.
"You've turned into such a mom," Evelyn teased as she approached.
He rolled his eyes and shoved the box into her tote. "You always forget to eat when you're stressed. Consider it an act of sibling generosity."
"Or guilt."
"Probably both."
She snorted and looked at him for a long moment. His face had matured since she last really studied it—subtle changes around the eyes, a stronger jawline. But his expression was the same as always when it came to her: a mixture of guarded fondness and dry commentary.
"You know," he said, looking down the road, "you didn't lose. Even if it felt like fighting."
Evelyn tilted her head. "What do you mean?"
"You and Mom. You both stood your ground. No one walked away angry. That's a win in this house."
She let out a slow breath. "It feels like... a beginning, not an ending."
"Good." He reached out and flicked the strap of her bag. "That means next time you come home, it won't feel like a battlefield."
Evelyn leaned in and hugged him. No fanfare. Just warmth.
"Take care of her," she said quietly.
"Yeah. You too."
At the Station
The train pulled in with a low rumble, and Evelyn stood on the platform, fingers tight around the handle of her suitcase. Rain flecked her coat, but the cool air felt oddly refreshing—like a restart button.
She took out her phone as the doors slid open.
Evelyn:
Boarding now. Back to my world soon.
The reply came within seconds.
Adrian:
Your world missed you.
She smiled and typed back:
Evelyn:
I've got stories.
Adrian:
I've got coffee. Meet me after class?
Evelyn:
It's a date.
As she stepped onto the train, her heart felt lighter—not because everything was fixed, but because it didn't have to be. Some bridges weren't rebuilt in a day. But they could be crossed slowly, one careful step at a time.
She settled into a window seat and let the rhythm of the train soothe her. With every passing mile, the tension of home faded—not erased, but understood. And somewhere, just beyond the city skyline, a familiar warmth waited for her return.
Adrian. School. Her path.
Hers.
