1. moving in

"Did you remember to pack your deodorant?" "Yes," I shouted back from upstairs, shoving the last of my clothes into my suitcase. "And your medication? Oh, don't forget your favorite mug!" "Yes and yes, I've packed everything," I replied, zipping up my suitcase and walking down the stairs, the wheels thudding against each step. I stopped at the bottom and wrapped my arms around her. "I'm just worried," she murmured, pulling me tighter before planting a kiss on my forehead. Her voice was soft but trembling, and I could feel the weight of her worry in the way she lingered in the hug. My mom had always been my biggest cheerleader, but I could see this goodbye was harder for her than either of us had expected. "You'll be fine, though," she said, pulling back to look me in the eye. Her lips curved into a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Won't you?" I nodded. "I will, Mom. I've got this." We stood there for a moment longer, as if memorizing each other's presence. Finally, she straightened and cleared her throat, brushing away invisible lint from my sweater. "Well, you'd better go before you miss the train." I hoisted my suitcase through the door, pausing one last time to look back. She was standing in the doorway, arms crossed tightly against her chest, a bittersweet smile on her face. "Call me when you get there, okay?" "I promise," I said, stepping out into the crisp morning air.

The train ride wasn't too long, but it was long enough for me to settle into another book. I'd been reading a lot of classics lately-partly because they made me feel sophisticated, but mostly because I was trying to impress myself with my own intellectual taste. Today's choice was White Nights, a slim little Dostoevsky novella that I'd picked up on a whim last week.

The rhythmic clatter of the train tracks paired with Dostoevsky's poetic melancholy should have lulled me into a comfortable reverie, but I couldn't focus. My thoughts kept drifting back to Hamzah.

We hadn't seen each other in years-not since we were twelve and our families drifted apart after mine moved. At the time, we'd promised to stay in touch. We tried, of course-letters at first, then texts and video calls-but the frequency waned as our lives got busier. Eventually, we just... stopped.

When I found out I'd been accepted to an art school in Toronto, the first thing I thought of was him. I wasn't sure why-maybe it was the thrill of starting fresh, of going back to a place that had always felt like his city, not mine. Or maybe I just missed the way we used to be.

The large suitcase beside me held everything I thought I'd need to move out, but I couldn't help wondering if I'd packed enough courage to face him after so long. What if he'd changed? What if I'd changed too much?

Toronto itself was another looming uncertainty. I'd only been there a handful of times-school trips, family weekends-but never long enough to truly get a feel for the city. Navigating the subway alone felt like a Herculean task, let alone starting university in an unfamiliar place.

Still, as the train pulled into Union Station, a flicker of excitement buzzed beneath my nerves. I could do this.

Hamzah was waiting by the main entrance when I arrived. I spotted him before he saw me-tall, lean, with a beanie pulled low over his curls. He was scrolling through his phone, oblivious to the swirl of commuters rushing past.

I hesitated for a moment, watching him. He looked different from the boy I remembered-broader shoulders, sharper angles to his face-but his posture, slightly slouched and relaxed, was still the same.

"Hamzah!" I called out, dragging my suitcase behind me.

He glanced up, and for a second, I saw confusion flicker across his face. Then his eyes lit up, and he broke into a grin.

"Cora!"

He crossed the distance in a few long strides and pulled me into a hug so tight I almost dropped my bag.

"You're here," he said, pulling back just enough to look at me. "I can't believe it. You're actually here."

"Surprise," I said with a nervous laugh, brushing a strand of hair out of my face. "It's been a while, huh?"

"Too long," he agreed, his grin softening into something warmer. "Come on, let's get you out of here. You must be starving."

As we walked out into the bustling streets of Toronto, I felt the weight of my nerves slowly start to lift. The city was bright and overwhelming, but Hamzah's presence grounded me. For the first time in a long time, it felt like I was exactly where I was supposed to be.