"New places don't erase old pain. They just give it new corners to hide in."
Airports have a way of making everything feel final. Like once you cross a certain line, there's no going back.
"Phoebe, you have your passport, right?" Mum asked again, her grip firm around my hand.
"Yes, Mum," I said, trying to sound more patient than I felt.
Ava stood beside me, arms folded, pretending she wasn't affected. Harper wasn't even trying, her eyes were already bloodshot red and glossy.
"You better not come back with a fake accent," Ava muttered.
I scoffed. "It's New York, not London. Plus, we're only miles away so, you better not pick one in my absence as well"
Harper smiled faintly. "Call us when you land. And when you get to school. And when you settle in."
"I will," I said.
My name was called for boarding.
Mum pulled me into a tight hug. "Be strong," she whispered into my hair.
Ava hugged me next. "If anything happens, I'm flying down there and choosing violence."
"I know you will."
Harper held me a little longer than the others. "Live, Phoebe," she said quietly. "Not just for Zara… for you too."
I nodded, even though I wasn't sure I knew how.
The flight was long, but not long enough to outrun my thoughts.
Zara.
New York.
The reason I was doing all this.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
By the time we landed, my chest felt heavy again.
New York hit me all at once.
The noise. The movement. The constant rush of people who had somewhere to be and no time to waste.
It was overwhelming, but alive.
I stood there for a moment, taking it in.
Somewhere in this city, Zara had lived her last days.
Columbia University stood exactly as I imagined—grand, structured, almost intimidating. The kind of place that made you feel like you had to prove you belonged there.
I adjusted my bag and stepped through the gates.
This was it.
Zara's school.
Now mine.
Ava and Harper had both gotten into New York University (NYU), about 20–25 minutes away by subway from Columbia. Close enough for weekend visits. Far enough that I couldn't rely on them every day.
That part was new.
Being on my own and it's unceremoniously scary.
The campus was busy, filled with students who looked like they had already figured themselves out. I moved through it quietly, observing more than participating.
My department—Journalism and Media Studies—was exactly what I expected. Fast-paced, competitive, and filled with people who noticed details most others ignored.
"Hey, you look like you're calculating your next move."
I turned to see a guy holding a notebook and a coffee, watching me with mild curiosity.
"Do I?" I asked.
"A little. First day?"
"Is it that obvious?"
"Only if you're paying attention," he said with a small shrug. "Daniel. Daniel Reyes."
"Phoebe."
"Nice to meet you, Phoebe. What's your major?"
"Journalism."
He smiled. "Same. Guess we'll be seeing each other a lot."
We walked to class together, and somewhere between comparing schedules and trying to figure out lecture halls, we realized we had almost identical timetables.
"Almost?" I asked.
He pointed at my schedule. "You've got Investigative Reporting. I don't."
I paused for a second, then nodded. "Looks like I do."
"Lucky you," he said lightly. "Or not. Depends on the lecturer."
I gave a small smile, but something about the course title sat heavier with me than it should have.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Later that day, I found the classroom.
It was quieter than the others. Smaller. Less crowded.
I took a seat near the window, placing my notebook on the desk as I tried to settle in.
Investigative Reporting.
The words lingered in my mind.
This was what I came here for. Not just lectures and assignments—but answers.
My thoughts drifted before I could stop them.
Zara.
Her voice.
Her laughter.
The last time we spoke.
I swallowed hard and looked down at my hands.
For a brief moment, I felt it—that familiar unease. The kind that creeps in quietly and settles before you can name it.
I glanced toward the door.
Nothing.
Just a hallway. A few distant footsteps. Normal.
I let out a slow breath and shook my head slightly.
It was just my mind again. Filling in spaces with fear. Turning silence into something more.
I leaned back in my chair, forcing myself to focus.
I wasn't here to fall apart.
I was here for a reason.
And whether I was ready or not, I was already in deeper than I thought.