So This is Love

The Journey 

The truck shook so bad it almost threw me out of the seat. Old thing never liked the road. I leaned my head on the window. Cold glass. It steadied me more than the seat did, and God knows the seat never stopped shaking. Cold. At least steadier than the seat.

Outside, the sky was waking up, pale at the edges. I saw myself in the window. My own eyes looked too wide, lashes twitching every time the tires slammed into another hole. I hated that. I looked nervous.

Dad had one hand on the wheel. His fingers started drumming on the dash, the way he always did when the quiet stretched too long. Not a song, not even a rhythm, just tap… tap-tap… like he couldn’t sit still. Every so often his eyes cut toward me, quick, like maybe I wouldn’t notice. I did. Of course I did. He’d never been good at hiding things. Quick ones. Like he thought he might catch my thoughts if he moved fast enough.

“You don’t look half as happy as when that letter showed up,” he said finally. His voice was rough from smoke and work, but there was a smile in it. “Back then you were bouncing like a puppy that smelled meat.”

My mouth twitched. No laugh though. I kept my eyes on the road, stretching and stretching. The cab smelled like oil, dust, and his aftershave. That smell was him. I breathed it in, already missing it.

He tried again, lighter this time. “If you’ve changed your mind, I’ll turn this truck around right now. Pancakes at home. Nursing school can wait.”

I shook my head. Couldn’t even joke about it. My bag was sitting at my feet. Inside was the letter—real as anything. A scholarship to the nursing school. Girls from my town only dreamed about things like that. Me? I was on the way.

I made a sound then. Half laugh, half snort,but it broke off almost right after. Nothing real. I wanted to say I was fine, to just put it out there so he’d stop looking at me like that. But the words wouldn’t move. They just sat heavy in my throat, my chest was full of too much—fear, excitement, and that ugly bruise from the fight with my friends.

Kiki. Cara. We used to be close. Shared clothes, whispered secrets at night, promised we’d stay that way forever. But forever didn’t last. Mike ruined it. He never wanted Kiki. He wanted me. And the second that truth came out, everything burned.

“She’s a snake,” Kiki had said. “A pretender. Flirts with what isn’t hers.”

The words spread like fire. Cara sided with her. One twisted story and I was done. I’d tried defending myself, running my mouth until it hurt, but every word made me look guiltier. After a while I stopped. Walked away. Not because I didn’t care, but because arguing was like pouring water into sand. Gone before it even landed. 

Sometimes silence wins more than arguing.

The truck stopped. Station. People already moving on the platform, bags bumping, voices rising. Dad cut the engine. Neither of us moved. The pause felt heavier than the ride itself.

He turned to me. His voice was low now. “You’ll do well, Norah. You’ve got your mother’s heart. That’s all you need.”

My throat closed. Mom. She was the reason I wanted this. I still remembered that night. The way her lips went pale. The way she collapsed. Dad’s hands shaking as he held her, begging. No doctor close enough. No hospital near. Just silence, prayers, and her hand growing cold in his.

I was only a kid. Too small. Too useless. That night carved something deep inside me. A promise. One day I’d be the help that never came.

Dad’s voice pulled me back. “You remember who to call when you arrive?”

“Kim,” I said.

“Your cousin,” he added, like I might forget. “You only met her once. She might not even know you now.” He laughed, awkward. Covering nerves.

“I’ll know her when I see her,” I muttered, fingers twisting on the strap of my bag like it might hold me together.

We got out. He wrestled my suitcase from the trunk but didn’t let go. His hand stayed on the handle, tight, like holding on could stall the train. His throat worked before he finally muttered, “Guess I should give you a hug… I’m really gonna miss this.”

I folded into his arms. His shirt smelled like home—sweat, aftershave, the fields. For a moment I wasn’t the brave girl leaving for the city. I was just his daughter.

“Be careful,” he whispered against my hair. “And if you need anything, call me. Promise?”

“I promise.”

The train whistle cut the air. I pulled away before I lost my nerve. Smiled—barely—and turned.

On board, I slid into a window seat. The carriage smelled of dust and iron. The fields outside blurred fast as the train picked up speed.

I kept my face to the window as the train rolled out. Dad stayed on the platform, shoulders set, not moving. He got smaller and smaller, until the whole station swallowed him. My eyes burned. I blinked fast, pressing into my shawl. “It’s just starting,” I whispered. I’ll be fine.

Hours passed. I dozed, never really asleep. Then buildings started to rise. The city. Gray blocks first, then taller ones pushing at the sky. Cars shoved and honked below. Nothing like home.

My chest tightened. The village already felt like a dream.

I pulled out my phone. Almost there, I texted.

Kim’s message still sat on my screen: Don’t try sneaking past me. Typical. I almost smiled.

The brakes screamed so loud it made my teeth clench. The train gave one last jolt, metal against metal, before it staggered into stillness. For a second nobody moved. Then the shuffle began—bags pulled down, voices calling out. I clutched mine, stumbled into the aisle, and finally stepped down onto the platform.

The noise hit me first. Horns blaring from somewhere beyond the station, vendors shouting names of things I couldn’t even catch, a hundred voices blending into one restless roar. People shoved past, their footsteps slapping the concrete like a storm breaking loose. My head spun. Too many sounds, too many bodies. It was nothing like home. All of it strange.

Then I heard it.

“Norah!”

~~~~