Chapter 1: The Departure
Start writing Roda’s fingers trembled as she ran the blade of the razor over her wrist. The quiet hum of the Manila airport buzzed in the background, the noise of travelers, the crackling intercom announcements, but she heard none of it. The weight of her mother’s death still lingered, settling like dust in her lungs. She could almost taste the grief, thick and suffocating, a burden she couldn’t shake, no matter how many miles she put between herself and her past.
She dropped the razor into her black leather bag, the sound of metal against the fabric strangely final, like the end of something she’d never be able to undo.
A soft voice behind her broke through her thoughts. “Ma’am, your boarding pass?”
Roda blinked, forcing her gaze away from the window, where the dark sky met the sea, both endless and unforgiving. The woman standing before her had a bored, practiced smile, one she probably wore every day. The kind of smile that reflected the detachment of the job—hands out, offering what was expected.
Roda reached into her pocket, pulled out the crumpled ticket, and handed it over, then returned her eyes to the horizon.
You can’t keep running, she thought. But that didn’t stop her from doing it. This flight wasn’t an escape. It was a dissolution.
She thought of Kathy then—Kathy—and how she had become both her salvation and her ruin. The very name brought a sharp sting in her chest, like a needle stitching her soul in places it never wanted to be mended. It had been years, but the wounds never fully healed. Not after everything they’d been through, not after the betrayal.
Her thoughts spiraled again, back to the day they said goodbye—the day Kathy asked her, her voice cracked and desperate, “Do you love me, Roda?” The words lingered in her mind like a ghost she couldn’t exorcise. No. She hadn’t loved her the way Kathy wanted. She hadn’t loved her enough to ruin her life, enough to tear apart the web of expectations her family had wrapped around her.
But there was something about Kathy’s smile, the way it softened the edges of her anger and despair, that still haunted her. The way it had felt to kiss her in secret, the rush of love tinged with shame. There were times she wished she could have let herself believe it was enough. But it never was.
“Ma’am, your boarding pass.”
Roda took it back absently and stuffed it into her bag, her fingers brushing the crumpled edges of a letter she hadn’t read yet. She’d written it two months ago, just before she decided to leave. The letter that said goodbye to Manila, to Kathy, to everything she had been.
I don’t love you. I never did. I never could.
She wanted to believe it. She needed to believe it.
But there was no clean break. And she wasn’t sure she’d ever truly escape.
The last call for her flight echoed across the terminal, and Roda stood, gripping her bag like a lifeline. She didn’t look back at the airport, at the city, at the life that had crumbled in her wake. This was just another step in the journey of her unraveling. A journey that had started long before she boarded the plane.
Her seat by the window was waiting for her. The sun had already begun to sink behind the horizon as the plane began its ascent, and the dimming light filled the cabin with a soft, golden glow. Outside, the clouds rolled in layers, thick and comforting like a blanket she could never quite reach.
She glanced down at the seatbelt fastened tightly around her, the tightness in her chest matching its grip, and closed her eyes, shutting the world out, even if only for a moment. When she opened them again, the world had shifted slightly. She wasn’t in Manila anymore. She was in the air, moving toward an unknown place.
Maybe this would be her freedom. Maybe not.
But in that moment, the weight of everything still hung around her neck, like an anchor pulling her under the surface.
She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t escape.
Layover in Limbo
The plane dipped, the engines roaring with the turbulence that always seemed to mark the beginning of something she wasn’t ready for. Roda pressed her palm against the window, feeling the cold glass beneath her fingertips as if that might somehow ground her. She could barely make out the lights of a distant city, and a strange wave of disorientation swept over her, the feeling that she didn’t quite belong in her own skin.
Her mind drifted again to Kathy. To the way her laughter once filled every corner of the quiet spaces between them, the way her touch had burned and soothed all at once. She remembered the quiet mornings they shared, the stolen moments of bliss, and how they had made promises — promises she never could have kept.
Roda shifted in her seat, adjusting her scarf around her neck, the fabric still faintly smelling of the airport. She pulled her journal from her bag. The leather had grown worn over the years, just like her, but it was the only thing that still felt real. The only place where she could let herself breathe, even if the words she wrote often felt like empty echoes.
She opened it to the last page she had written on before the flight.
“I’m not running. I’m dissolving. And yet I still can’t shake the idea that I might want to find myself again. But how do you find something that feels like it’s already lost?”
The words stared back at her, raw, naked — a reminder of the unresolved heaviness in her chest.
As the plane continued to soar above the clouds, her thoughts drifted to the city she was headed to: Lisbon. A place she had never been. A place far from everything she had known, and yet, somehow, it felt like the beginning of a new chapter. Or, maybe, it was just another distraction.
When the plane finally touched down, the sense of disorientation deepened. She’d chosen this city because it felt neutral — far enough from Manila to be a form of escape but not too distant to feel utterly alien. Her therapist had once told her that sometimes we need to go somewhere foreign, not just for the sake of geography, but for the sake of our own identity.
She was here to find herself, wasn’t she?
The airport was smaller than she expected, quiet compared to the noise of Manila. The low hum of voices echoed across the high ceilings, the glow of overhead lights giving everything a muted, melancholic glow. Roda took a deep breath, feeling the weight of her luggage and the invisible burdens she carried on her shoulders.
She followed the signs to baggage claim, lost in thought, the weight of the past still clinging to her. It was only when she heard someone say her name that she snapped out of her fog.
“Roda?”
The voice was unfamiliar, yet there was something in the way it rang that made her freeze. She turned toward the voice, half-expecting to see someone from home, someone she knew, someone who would pull her back. But there was no one.
The person who called her name stepped closer. She was tall, with short, messy hair that framed her face in a way that seemed both carefree and intentional. She wore a leather jacket, black jeans, and boots — a traveler’s look, effortlessly cool.
“I’m Elene,” the woman said, her smile a little too wide, almost like she was trying to make up for something, but Roda couldn’t place what.
“Are you—?” Roda started, but stopped herself.
“Your guide,” Elene said with a wink. “I’m the one you were supposed to meet. Don’t worry, I’m not a stalker. Just a photographer. I promised I’d show you around Lisbon. At least for a few days.”
Roda’s eyes narrowed. This was... unexpected. She had booked a tour, yes, but this stranger’s familiarity felt like more than a simple introduction. It felt like fate. Or maybe it was the ghost of a life she had never asked for, that followed her even here, to a new place.
“You’re early,” Roda said, unsure of what else to say.
“I’m never on time. But you’ll get used to it.” Elene laughed, clearly unaffected, and pointed toward the exit. “Let’s go. The city’s waiting for us.”
The drive to the city was quiet, save for Elene’s occasional remarks about Lisbon’s history, which Roda barely heard. She kept her eyes trained on the streets, on the unfamiliar architecture, on the fading sunlight. It was all so different, so disorienting, but at least it wasn’t Manila. It wasn’t home.
Elene turned the car onto a narrow street, the buildings pressed close to one another, their bright colors and worn façades standing in stark contrast to the clean, sanitized feel of the airport.
“You’re really quiet,” Elene said, glancing at her. “I can tell when someone’s holding something back.”
Roda stiffened at the words. Her eyes flickered over to Elene, studying the way the woman’s hands gripped the steering wheel with a certain tenderness, as if each turn was a careful choice.
“I’m just... I’m not sure what I’m doing here,” Roda admitted, her voice softer than she intended. “It feels like running, but it’s not really going anywhere.”
Elene nodded slowly, the streetlights casting shadows across her face. “Running isn’t the same as leaving, though, right?” she said, her voice low, almost as if she were speaking more to herself than Roda. “Leaving means you’ve got somewhere to go.”
Roda said nothing, unsure of how to respond. Was she looking for somewhere to go? Or was she just trying to outrun her past?
The silence stretched between them, filled with the weight of things unsaid. But there was something about Elene — her presence, the way she didn’t seem to ask questions, yet knew more than Roda was willing to admit — that made Roda feel like she could breathe, if only for a moment.
Elene pulled the car over to the side of the street, parking in front of a building that looked like it had lived a thousand lives. The faded sign above the door read Alojamento Lisboa in bold, chipped letters.
“Here we are,” Elene said, unbuckling her seatbelt. “I’ll grab your bags.”
Roda hesitated, but then followed her inside, the feeling of walking into an unknown place both exhilarating and terrifying at the same time.
