Page 74 of Iridescent
I stay where I am, staring at the screen, my reflection faint over the images.
For the first time since I walked through the door with flowers in my hand like a fucking idiot, panic gives way to something far worse.
Because this is no longer just about Yara leaving.
It is about what finally made her go.
Chapter 14
earlier that day
Airplanes will be the death of me.
I’d only been in the air for a little under three hours, but by the end of it I felt like I’d been dragged through hell.
The earliest ticket I could get was a window seat in economy, and I gave it up the second a nursing mother asked if we could switch. I spent the rest of the flight wedged between her crying baby and a man snoring like he had a personal vendetta against silence.
I kept my eyes on the seat in front of me and triednot to listen when the baby finally calmed down, let out a soft little giggle, and the mother answered with quiet coos. Tried not to think about how easily some women seem to carry life while mine keeps ending in sterile rooms and negative tests.
By the time the plane landed, my head was pounding hard enough to crowd out every other thought.
Now I’m back in Chania for the first time in almost a decade, standing in the middle of the airport and feeling completely lost. The terminal is bigger than I remember. Brighter. Busier. None of it feels familiar.
Only the pain does. That same cold pressure lodged behind my ribs, unchanged by time, waiting for me like I never left.
Around me, life keeps moving. The airport is loud and full and alive, but none of it reaches me. No one knows I’m here. I didn’t tell Yiayià or Althea. That should make this easier. Instead, it makes me feel even more alone.
Once, Xavier made me believe I never would.
“Don’t laugh,” Xavier said, with an earnestness that almost undid me before he even got the words out.
There was ink on the inside of his palm, lines of something he still wouldn’t let me see, and a note card in his other hand gone soft at the corners from being opened and closed too many times. The sight of it pulled at something deep in my chest. Xavier never fumbled. And yet his hands were shaking.
I bit the inside of my cheek, fighting the smile trying to break through. “I’m not.”
His mouth tightened, like he didn’t believe me for a second. “My Greek is terrible,” he said, sounding faintly disgusted by the fact. Then his voice softened. “But I wanted to say this to you in the language that feels most like home.”
My breath caught.
He glanced down at his palm once, then lifted his eyes back to mine.“S’agapo, Yara.”
The words leave my eyes burning. He sees the tears gathering there, and the severity in his expression gives way to something achingly tender.
“I love you,” he said, quieter now. He took my hand and pressed it over the hard, uneven beat of his heart. “Only you, Yara. If you let me, I’ll spend the rest of my life proving it.”
His forehead came to rest against mine. “When the world grows too heavy, leanon me, amor. You have stood on your own for long enough. You do not have to carry all of it by yourself anymore. Not while you have me.”
I leaned on him. Trusted him with the parts of me I kept hidden from everyone else. I believed him. And he broke me anyway.
A tear trickles down my cheek. I scrub it away with the heel of my hand as suitcase wheels scrape past and an announcement spills through the terminal. The noise, the movement, the bodies around me crowd back in. I blink hard, drag in a shallow breath, and tighten my grip on the handle of my suitcase.
No more crying.
I force my legs into motion, following the signs toward the taxi stand just outside the terminal. The afternoon sky is startlingly bright after the airport’s artificial chill, and a cool breeze threads through my jacket. The air smells of sea salt and rain, cool enough to prickle my skin but still mild by Crete’s standards, nothing like the blistering summers I grew up with. A row of taxis lines the curb. I flag the first one, and a middle-aged driver steps out to hoist my suitcase into the trunk.
I climb into the back seat and give him Yiayia’s address. He seems about to speak, then decides against it. Once we leave the airport and merge into the morning traffic, I finally check my phone.
Seven missed calls. Two voicemails. A stack of messages, all from Xavier.
