I didn’t sleep well that night. It was not right to sleep well when the day after would be a rather different day than the usual. At eleven, you asked me a question, I looked at the ceiling absentmindedly and replied, “I don’t feel like going back.” Honestly, I didn’t feel like going back. I knew that it would be a joke to not go back. My time there, at least for that phase of my life, was over. I was also thinking of something else. That morning, I didn’t watch the morning sun rising from its hiding. That morning, the only thought in my mind was ‘Thank you for not pushing me away. Thank you for still having faith with me.’
That mid-morning, I went to the last place there where my feet still touched the ground. I talked with both of you, but it felt different. It felt different because the next time when I listened to your voices and see your faces again would probably be so many months away. I still could bottle up my real feelings though. I didn’t want to show I was sad. I wanted us to depart on a happy note. That day would not be the last time. I promise that. On that plane, I watched the sky. The blue that day was a beauty. The clouds were dense and white. The only thing on my mind was nothingness.