Chapter 3: Packing Up the Past

After that, I stopped going to school.

The campus felt different once you knew you were leaving—every hallway, every classroom, held a bittersweet finality. I walked past familiar faces, letting the memories settle like dust.

Going abroad was a sudden decision, and it took some time to get everything ready.

My room was a mess of open suitcases and scattered papers. I spent hours on the phone with consulates, filling out forms, tracking down transcripts. The future felt like a blank page, waiting to be written.

While I was working in the study, my aunt knocked on the door. "My proudest student came to visit, said it was to see me, but after dropping things off, just won’t leave."

She poked her head in, eyebrows raised, her voice tinged with amusement. I could hear the distant sound of her favorite NPR station playing in the kitchen—"This American Life" drifting through the house.

"Come out and take a look?"

I smiled helplessly. "Just leave the door open, Aunt Carol. You go prep your lesson."

I tried to sound casual, but I was grateful for her presence. The house felt warmer with her bustling around, humming under her breath.

It was afternoon, early summer, and you could hear the cicadas from time to time.

The air was thick with humidity, sticking to my skin, the sound of a neighbor’s lawn mower droning outside. Kids rode bikes up and down the street, their laughter echoing in the distance.

But no footsteps came in.

I waited, half expecting Ethan to show up, but the hallway stayed quiet.

When I looked up from the computer, it was already getting dark outside.

The sky was streaked with pink and gold, the streetlights flickering on one by one. I stretched, feeling the ache in my shoulders.

I went to the living room.

The old clock on the mantel ticked softly, the silence settling in like an old friend. I glanced at the empty couch, the untouched mug of tea on the coffee table.

Ethan seemed to have never come at all.

It was as if he’d vanished, leaving only a faint trace of his presence in the air. I wondered if he’d changed his mind, or if he’d ever planned to visit at all.

The last rays of sunset stretched across the hardwood floor, filling the room with a quiet loneliness.

I stood by the window, watching the world outside slip into twilight. The loneliness was familiar, but this time, it felt like freedom.

In the next few days, I finalized my destination.

I poured over brochures, compared programs, and made lists in a battered notebook. Each step brought me closer to something new, something just for me.

I grew up with my aunt. My parents left me money, but each lived their own life.

They were always moving, always chasing the next big thing. I learned early on to rely on myself—and on Aunt Carol, who was always there with a hot meal and a listening ear.

In my previous life, I never saw them again, not even at the end.

The realization was bittersweet. I’d spent years hoping for a reunion, but in the end, I’d only had memories.

But no one interfered with me.

It was a kind of freedom.

I told my aunt where I was going.

She said, "That’s a great place. Right now, their aerospace field is the most advanced."

She flipped through a magazine, pointing out articles about NASA and SpaceX, and even the University of Michigan’s latest research. Her pride was obvious, and I felt a flicker of excitement.

"Ethan’s been asking where you’re headed these days. It’s rare for him to care about others. Did you tell him yourself?"

Her words caught me off guard. I hadn’t expected Ethan to be curious, let alone concerned.

I laughed. "Aunt Carol, weren’t you the one who couldn’t stand me being clueless, always pushing me between Ethan and Savannah, even making yourself uncomfortable, not letting me get close to you at school?"

I teased her, remembering all the times she’d tried to play matchmaker, even when I protested—just like something out of a sitcom family dinner.

My aunt sighed. "I’m just afraid you’re acting on impulse."

She leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, her gaze softening. "If you’ve really decided, don’t regret it."

I said, "Don’t worry, Aunt Carol."

I gave her a reassuring smile, hoping she’d believe me this time.

The next day, I went back to school.

The campus was buzzing with energy—student protests by the library, food trucks lining the quad, flyers plastered everywhere. I felt like a ghost, passing through the world I was about to leave behind.

I ran into classmates and only then learned that news of my plans to study abroad had spread.

Word travels fast in college, and by lunchtime, half the campus seemed to know I was leaving. Some congratulated me, others eyed me with envy.

My roommates, while I was packing, couldn’t help but gossip.

They clustered around the doorway, whispering and shooting me sideways glances. The tension was thick enough to cut with a knife.

"Lillian, don’t you not have parents? How can you go abroad to study? My dad says people who study abroad are rare these days, how did you get the chance?"

Her tone was half-curious, half-skeptical. She fiddled with her phone, waiting for my answer.

"Exchange student? Your grades are good, but not that good, right? Are you really going to study abroad?"

Another roommate chimed in, her voice tinged with disbelief. I could see the jealousy flicker in her eyes.

I picked up a trendy T-shirt, looked it over, then tossed it in the trash.

The shirt was neon green with a bold Nike logo—something I never liked. It landed with a soft thud, and the room went silent.

My roommate’s hand froze in midair.

She stared at me, mouth open, as if she couldn’t believe I’d just thrown away something so coveted.

I asked, "Didn’t Savannah tell you?"

My voice was cool, but inside I felt a strange sense of relief. I was finally letting go of the things—and people—that didn’t fit anymore.

"The clothes aren’t for you. She probably promised you something."

I said it matter-of-factly, knowing Savannah’s habit of spreading herself thin among friends.

The roommate hurriedly explained, "No, Lillian, Savannah didn’t tell me to say anything, and she didn’t give me anything."

Her words tumbled out, desperate to clear her name. I could see the panic in her eyes.

I said, "Really? Then you’re just doing this for nothing."

I shrugged, grabbing my suitcase. It felt good to finally call things as they were.

I grabbed my packed things and left the dorm.

The hallway was bright and empty, the echo of my footsteps a reminder that I was moving on.

The roommate followed me out.

She lingered in the doorway, torn between following me and staying behind.

At the door, I paused and pointed through the air.

I gestured toward the far corner, where lost socks and empty pizza boxes tended to pile up.

"I’ve always thought there was a thief in our dorm—things keep going missing. I wonder who’ll be the one to pick up the clothes this time."

My roommate’s face fell.

She turned away, shoulders slumping, and retreated to her desk. The sound of muffled sobs drifted down the hallway.

She turned back to the dorm, lay on the desk, and started crying.

I felt a pang of guilt, but I knew it was better this way. Some things had to end before new ones could begin.

I walked out.

The weather was beautiful.

The sky was a perfect blue, the kind that makes you want to drive with the windows down and the radio up. I took a deep breath, letting the fresh air fill my lungs.

Fall would be here soon, wouldn’t it?

I could smell pumpkin spice from the campus coffee shop and hear distant cheers from a football game.

But before autumn arrived, there was an unexpected visitor.

When I reached the campus gate, someone grabbed my suitcase.

The grip was firm, almost possessive. I turned, surprised to see Ethan standing there.

"You’re going to Michigan?"

His voice was low, his eyes searching mine for answers.

"Isn’t your major international relations? Weren’t you planning to do the same work as your parents?"

He sounded almost annoyed, like he’d been rehearsing this confrontation in his head.

I was surprised.

I hadn’t expected him to know so much, or to care enough to ask.

Ethan had learned things about me that few others knew.

It was unsettling, but also strangely comforting.

I said, "No, I think they’re too carefree."

I shrugged, thinking of all the times my parents had missed soccer games and birthdays, chasing the next diplomatic summit.

"Maybe even if I’m not a diplomat, I could still run into them."

I smiled, imagining chance meetings in airport terminals and hotel lobbies.

"Maybe when they’re flying all over, they’ll end up on planes I build."

The thought made me laugh—a strange kind of hope, rooted in possibility.

"Isn’t that a kind of meeting too?"

Ethan suddenly let go of my suitcase.

My luggage scattered across the ground.

Books and clothes tumbled out, drawing curious glances from passersby. I knelt down, gathering my things, feeling the embarrassment flush my cheeks.

Suitcases really are inconvenient.

I muttered under my breath, wishing I’d invested in something sturdier. The zipper snagged, and I cursed softly.

I squatted down to pick up my things.

Ethan kicked at the ground, frustrated.

He scuffed his sneaker against the pavement, jaw clenched. For a moment, I thought he might say something—anything—but he just stared at the mess.

"All this stuff is worth you coming back especially."

His tone was bitter, the words sharp. I could see the hurt flicker in his eyes, even if he tried to hide it.

"So you’re just gonna leave without saying goodbye?"

I said, hesitating, a flash of old emotion crossing my face, "With what identity should I say goodbye to you, Ethan?"

My voice was steady, but my hands shook as I zipped up my suitcase. The space between us felt impossibly wide.