Elena Sterling
The airport lights were too bright for someone who had just crossed half the world.
After six years.
Six years of foreign skies, sleepless nights, ambition carved into bone, and a life built brick by brick in a place that never quite felt like home I was finally back. The moment my boots touched the polished floor of the arrival terminal, something in my chest tightened. Not relief. Not
excitement.
Recognition.
This was my country. My city. The place I had left behind on purpose.
I adjusted the strap of my bag over my shoulder and exhaled slowly. The air felt heavier here. Warmer. Familiar in a way that made memories stir before I was ready to face them.
I pulled my phone out and dialed the number I knew by heart.
"Where are you?" Lucas's voice came through immediately.
"Arrival gate. Just landed."
"I'm already here," he said. "Turn left."
I did—and there he was.
Lucas.
My cousin. My childhood partner in crime. The boy who used to climb trees with me, steal mangoes from the neighbor's yard, and swear we'd rule the world together.
He was taller now. Broader. Muscles stretching beneath a fitted black T-shirt. Gone was the lanky teenager with scraped knees. This Lucas looked like someone who had grown into responsibility whether he wanted to or not.
I didn't think. I just walked straight into him.
"Elena," he said, laughing softly as he hugged me back, strong arms wrapping around me. "You look—damn."
I pulled back, raising an eyebrow. "What? Not allowed to glow up?"
He chuckle. "You're taller. And—" he lightly tapped my shoulder, "—muscles. When did that happen?"
I smirked. "Didn't you hear? CEOs lift."
"Figures," he said. "So do you, Lucas," I added, glancing at his arms. "What happened to the skinny kid who hated workouts?"
He snorted. "Life happened."
We walked toward the exit together, the noise of the airport fading behind us. Outside, his car waited—a sleek black Mercedes.
I stopped for half a second. "Impressive."
He grinned. "Six years changes people."
So did silence. So did distance.
He drove. I watched.
The city unfolded outside the window—roads I knew, buildings that looked taller than before, shops replaced, lights sharper. I remembered leaving this place with a suitcase and a promise. Coming back now, successful, well-known, praised by my family… it should have felt like victory.
Instead, one name sat heavy in my chest.
Isabella.
The person I left behind.
The person I wanted back.
"How long have you been staying with Aunt and Uncle?" I asked casually, breaking the quiet.
"About a month," he replied.
That tracked. He always stayed with them when things got busy.
"And Isabella?" I asked, keeping my tone neutral.
His fingers tightened on the steering wheel.
"She's… fine, Elena."
A pause.
Too careful.
"Fine," I repeated, watching him from the corner of my eye.
"Yes," he said quickly. "She's fine."
I didn't push. Not yet.
The mansion appeared at the end of the road, just as it always had—massive, white-stoned, standing like it owned the land beneath it. My home.
Or what used to be.
Lucas parked, and the moment I stepped out, the doors opened.
Mom reached me first.
"Elena," she breathed, hugging me tightly, arms wrapping around me like she'd been holding her breath for six years. I hugged her back, deeply, inhaling the familiar scent of jasmine and warmth.
Dad followed, his embrace firm and proud. He didn't say much—he never did—but the smile he gave me was different. Fuller. He was proud. That much was clear.
My grandmother cupped my face with both hands. "Look at you," she said, eyes shining. "All grown up."
I laughed softly. "You say that every time."
"And every time it's true."
Aunt. Uncle. Smiles. Words. Nostalgia flooding the halls.
I exhaled heavily.
"Tired, baby?" Mom asked, her hands instinctively cupping my cheeks like she used to when I was a child.
I leaned into her touch without thinking. "Very."
She kissed my forehead. "You're home now."
Inside, the mansion felt… quieter.
The walls were the same. The grand staircase still curved at the center like a spine. Chandeliers still glittered overhead. But something was missing. Or maybe something had changed.
I climbed the stairs slowly.
My room waited at the end of the hallway—the biggest one, just like before. The door opened to reveal a space untouched by time. Too untouched.
Everything I left behind was still there.
The bookshelf. The desk. The window that faced the garden.
And memories.
I walked inside, my fingers brushing over the desk, the mirror. My reflection stared back—sharper, older, stronger. Not the silly teenager who left. Not entirely the person I'd become either.
I smiled faintly.
This room held too many echoes.
Of laughter. Of whispered promises. Of Isabella sitting by the window, feet tucked beneath her, journal in hand.
I swallowed.
Six years ago, I had left believing distance would protect us.
Now I wasn't so sure.
I stood there longer than I meant to, staring at the reflection that no longer looked like the person she once loved. My fingers curled slowly against the edge of the desk, knuckles whitening, chest tightening in a way success had never managed to heal.
My voice came out barely louder than a breath.
"Isabella…"
The name still fit too easily on my tongue.
"I tried to contact you,"
I whispered, like the walls might carry the words to her. "I called. I wrote. I waited."
Silence answered me.
I swallowed hard, my throat burning.
"You never answered," I continued, quieter now.
"Not once. Not even to say goodbye."
I closed my eyes.
"Why?"
The word trembled as it left me.
"What happened to you while I was gone?"
The room didn't respond—but it felt heavier somehow, like it knew the answer and was refusing to give it to me yet. A chill crept up my spine, the kind that doesn't come from cold but from instinct.
For the first time since landing, fear settled in my chest.
Because silence like that didn't come from indifference.
It came from damage.
And whatever had happened to Isabella Kane in the six years I was gone…
I had a feeling it wasn't something time alone could fix.