Chapter 4: A New City, A New Skin
The air in the new city tasted different.
Fresher, lighter, yet with a subtle hint of something unknown.
Perhaps it was freedom. Or just the sharp ache of loneliness disguised as possibility.
I had moved into a small apartment near the edge of town, where cobbled paths gave way to winding trails and thick forest.
It wasn't far from the center, but far enough that I could breathe. Far enough that I could scream and not be heard.
My hair had changed. Once wild red, full of fire and stubbornness, it was now a cooler, ash-blonde.
A muted version of me.
Not because I wanted to disappear, but because I needed to become someone else.
Someone less visible. Someone harder to reach.
Starting over meant learning to smile again, to respond to small talk in the hallway, to accept coffee invitations without assuming they came with expectations.
It meant faking normality long enough that I might someday believe in it again.
At work, I was cautious. I kept to myself, efficient but guarded.
Then came Mia.
Mia, with the sun in her eyes and laughter in her voice. She had the kind of warmth that seeped into cracks I didn't even know were there.
She never pushed. Just appeared with extra coffee, or a croissant she swore she didn't want to eat alone.
In time, I found myself looking forward to her visits.
She told stories of her chaotic family, her disastrous love life, and how she once dated a man who talked only in quotes from Nietzsche. "I lasted three weeks," she said with a grin. "That's resilience, right?"
It was her, more than anything, who reminded me what kindness looked like.
What safety could feel like, even in small doses.
And then there was Sabrina.
Sabrina, the sharp-dressed, sharp-tongued colleague who always seemed to find fault in the work I handed in. Her smile was tight, her eyes calculating.
She watched me. Closely.
At first I thought it was simple competition, the usual office games.
But as weeks passed, I noticed little things.
My reports presented as hers.
Ideas I had scribbled in brainstorms somehow appearing in her presentation slides.
I kept quiet. I didn't want conflict.
I couldn't bear it.
But I watched.
In the shadows of this new beginning, I learned again how to trust.
Not just others. Myself.
Even as the past lingered behind every corner.
Even as I flinched when someone brushed my arm in the hallway.
Even as I kept a small can of pepper spray in every bag I owned.
Safety wasn't a place. It was a feeling I hadn't yet reclaimed.
And still, the air smelled like freedom.