"21 August 2022
The train journey to my hometown feels bittersweet. This place was once dear to me, but now every inch of it reminds me of him. The pain threatens to spill over, but I push it down, knowing that it's still a part of me, albeit distant.
I'm going home to my grandma's house, and her words bring a warm familiar comfort. Four months of summer break lie ahead, and I know I'll enjoy my time there."
With a sigh, I close my diary – I'm going to endure this situation for now. Leaning against the train window the scenery rushes by in a blur, a palette of memories blending together. Every street, every landmark, is a reminder of a time when he was part of this canvas. I try to focus on the present, but the past has a way of slipping into my thoughts like unwelcome shadows.
As the train moves closer to the city, the tightness in my chest grows. It's not just the anticipation of seeing familiar faces; it's the fear of running into him, of facing the memories that still linger in the air.
The city skyline gradually comes into view, and my heart races. With each passing moment, I'm closer to the place where everything went wrong. Memories replay in my mind, like scenes from a movie I can't escape. Finally, the train stops. People start to hurry around me, but I remain seated, paralyzed by the thought of what awaits me outside these doors. I take a deep breath, steeling myself for the homecoming I'm not sure I'm ready for.As I step off the train, the familiar smells and sounds of the city hit me like a wave. I can almost feel his presence, and it sends a tingle down my spine. I force myself to move, one foot in front of the other, as I make my way out of the station. Everything seems the same, yet it all feels different. The air is charged with an electric energy, a mix of nostalgia and anxiety. I can't shake the feeling that I'm walking into a minefield, where every step could trigger a memory I'm not prepared to face.The crowd moves around me, everyone busy with their own lives, oblivious to the inner turmoil raging inside me. I feel like a ghost, unseen and unheard, as I trudge past the places we used to frequent.Old cafes, parks, and alleys - all carry echoes of our laughter and conversations. Each memory stabs like a dagger, reminding me of what I've lost. I'm torn between wanting to clutch onto these mementos and wanting to run away from them.
Finally, I reached my grandmother's house. The familiar scent of her garden welcomes me, a small comfort in this sea of uncertainty.As I walk up the path to the front door, I can see my grandmother peeking through the window. Seeing her friendly face, I forced a smile. She swings open the door and pulls me into a tight hug.
"Hazel, you've grown so much," she says, her voice filled with affection.
"I've missed you dearly."
"I've missed you too, grandma," I murmured into her shoulder. Her embrace feels like a sanctuary, a safe place where I can let my guard down for a moment.
As she leads me inside, the sight of the house brings back a flood of childhood memories. The trinkets, the furniture, the photos on the wall – all are witnesses to a past I thought I had buried deep within me.
We enter the living room where everything seems untouched, frozen in time. The same framed picture of my parents sits on the mantelpiece, the same comfortable sofa is placed in front of the fireplace. I take a seat on the sofa, my eyes drawn to the picture. My mom's smile, my dad's eyes – they seem to reach out, holding me in a bittersweet grip. It's been years since they're gone, yet their absence still leaves a hollow ache in my chest.My grandmother joins me on the sofa, her presence a soothing balm. She pats my hand gently, sensing my turmoil. For a few moments, we sit in silence, lost in our own thoughts.
Finally, she breaks the silence.
"Are you okay, my dear?" she asks softly. Her voice is filled with concern and love.
I swallow the lump in my throat, trying to find my voice.
"I'm fine, grandma," I manage to say, though it feels like a lie.
She looks at me, her eyes filled with wisdom and understanding.
"I can tell something's troubling you. You can talk to me, you know. Whatever it is."
I exhale a shaky breath.
"It's just... being back here, it brings back a lot of memories," I confess. "Memories I thought I had put behind me."
My grandma nods, her face creases with worry. "About him, you mean?" she asks gently.
I nod, a wave of sadness washing over me. "Yeah, about him," I murmured.
"It's been four years since we broke up, and I thought I was over it. But being here..."
My voice trails off, and I look down at my hands, clenching and unclenching them. Talking about him makes the lump in my throat grow.
My grandmother reaches out and takes my hands in hers, her touch bringing a small measure of comfort. "It's natural to feel this way, Hazel," she says soothingly.
"Memories have a way of lingering, especially when they are filled with pain."
I look up at her, tears pricking the back of my eyes.
"I just wish I could forget him," I whisper. "It hurts too much to remember."
My grandma squeezes my hands, her gaze filled with understanding.
"You can't forget the past, my dear," she says quietly. "It's a part of you, and trying to erase it will only cause more pain. You need to learn to live with it, to find a way to accept it and move forward."
I take a deep breath, her words sinking in. I know she's right, but it's easier said than done.
My grandmother changes the subject, her eyes shining with pride.
"So, tell me about your studies," she says, her voice light and casual.
"You're in college now, right? What are you studying?"
I force a smile, grateful for the change in topic.
"I'm majoring in English literature," I reply. "I... I actually want to become a writer."
My grandmother's face lights up with delight.
"That's wonderful, Hazel!" she exclaims.
"I always knew you were destined for something creative. You've always had such a knack for words and telling stories."
Her words warm my heart, reminding me of those late nights spent scribbling in my journal, pouring out my thoughts and dreams onto paper.A sense of determination burns through me.
"I've been writing a novel, actually," I tell her.
Her eyes widen. "A novel? That's incredible!" she says, her voice filled with excitement. "Can I read it when it's ready?"
I laugh, her eagerness touching me.
"Of course, grandma," I assure her.
"Once it's done, the first person I'll show it to is you."
My grandmother beams. "I can't wait," she says emphatically. "Promise you'll let me read it the moment it's done."
My grandmother glances at the clock. "It's already late," she observes. "You must be tired, dear."
I nod, feeling a wave of exhaustion wash over me. But the thought of food sparks my interest. "We could use something to eat first," I admit, a small smile tugging at the corners of my mouth.
My grandmother chuckles. "That's my girl," she says, patting my hand. "You've always had a healthy appetite."
She rises from the sofa, heading towards the kitchen. "I'll fix you something quick. Go make yourself comfortable. You look like you need some rest."
I nod, standing up and stretching my cramped limbs. "Thanks, grandma," I say, a sigh of relief escaping me. She disappears into the kitchen, leaving me alone in the living room. I move towards the hallway leading to my childhood room, my steps heavy with tiredness and residual sadness.
As I step into my room, it feels like stepping into a time capsule. The walls are still adorned with old photos, the bed still has the same comfy duvet. Everything is just as I remember it – a frozen slice of the past.
I collapse onto the bed, my body sinking into the familiar embrace. For a moment, I just lay there, staring up at the ceiling, my mind a jumbled mess of thoughts and memories.
I look around my room, my gaze drawn to the photos on the wall. One catches my eye – a picture of me and Bella, my best friend since childhood, at our high school prom.
I pick up the picture, my fingers tracing the image of our younger selves. Bella is laughing, her head thrown back, her arms around me. I look different in that picture – cheerful, carefree, not weighed down by sadness and memories like I am now. Bella is vibrant and full of life, her presence lighting up the photo, much like her personality.I stare at the picture a little longer, my mind swimming with memories. Bella was always the life of the party, the one who dragged me out of my shy shell and forced me to socialize. I was always much more reserved, preferring a good book to a night out.
Looking at that picture, I feel a pang of nostalgia for how things used to be - simple, easy, without the weight of a broken heart and a troubled past.I set the picture back on the wall, my eyes scanning the rest of the photos. There's one of me and my parents, another with my friends, a solo picture of me holding a trophy for winning an essay competition.
Suddenly, my eye is drawn to a faded picture at the back. A lump forms in my throat as I recognize a tall boy with tousled brown hair and a lazy smile – him – my first love "Graham Cortland". I had always liked calling him Grammy. His name would roll off my tongue like a song – sweet, musical, just the way he used to make me feel.
I stare at his photo, the memories flooding back. We were like two puzzle pieces that fit perfectly together, inseparable through high school and into our first steps into adulthood.
My eyes skim over his familiar features, the jawline, the dark eyes, the crooked smile that always made me weak in the knees. Memories flood my mind, unbidden and unwanted.I can almost hear his voice in my head, his soft Southern drawl whispering my name, making my heart race. I can almost feel the weight of his arms around me, the warmth of his body against mine.
The memories come in flashes - laughing over silly jokes, lying under the stars, his lips on mine, promising forever.
My chest aches, and the lump in my throat grows larger. The tears I've been holding back sting the back of my eyes, threatening to spill over. I look away from the picture, but the memories keep flooding me.
His smile, his touch, his laugh, all of it replays like a broken record in my head. Each memory a dagger in my heart, each a reminder of the love, and the pain that followed.A voice cuts through the noise in my head.
"Hazel, dinner's ready!" my grandmother calls from the kitchen.
I tear my eyes away from the pictures, blinking fiercely to clear the tears that have welled up. I take a few shaky breaths, steeling myself for the upcoming meal.
"Coming, grandma!" I call back, my voice unnaturally cheerful.I leave my room, closing the door behind me, trapping those memories back in the past where they belong.