✓ | 𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐍, j. hale [1]

The persistent hum of the airplane engines was a dull roar in Evelyn's noise-cancelling headphones, a futile attempt to mute the incessant chatter of her fellow passengers. She squeezed her eyes shut, wishing more than anything to simply melt away.

Today marked an unwanted reset, a forced beginning to a life she hadn't asked for. Her mind drifted back to suburban Chicago, to a home that no longer existed, and to parents whose faces now only appeared in aching memories.

Each passing second on the plane added miles, not just to the physical distance, but to the emotional chasm that separated her from her old life. The weight of the past two months pressed down on her, a constant, suffocating burden. It still felt surreal to think of herself as an orphan.

Evelyn blinked, a single tear tracing a path down her cheek. She swiped it away quickly, acutely aware of the nosy old woman in the next seat, pretending to read a magazine but clearly watching her. She was used to it by now; public grief was a spectacle, especially when you lost your parents on the same night.

With a slow, shaky exhale, she leaned back in her seat, gazing out the tiny window at the blur of clouds. She wished for two things simultaneously: for the plane to turn around, and for it to move faster, just to get this day, this new, unwanted chapter, over with.