Come Home To Yourself Novels & Stories

Returning to our spacious, cold home, a thought came to me. "I want to go back to my hometown for a while."

She didn’t need a title. He didn’t need a reason. She had finally come home to herself And he was already there.

The years apart. I am finally home.

“I see. Thank goodness.” “Was that the reason you came back home?” “Yes, kind of. I also realized that this place is the safest place I could be in. Every other place out there, wasn’t safe, so, I had to come back, and it’s best I endured and fought back the things which would make my living here, a little difficult. “Hmm. Well, I’m glad you’re back home, but to be honest, I wasn’t happy with you, when you fled off. You should have considered those who care about you.”

Home is where I need to be, where I can find solace and regain my composure. With each passing second, my determination grows stronger. I can't let her words define me, can't let them break me down. I know who I am, and I won't let anyone else's opinion tarnish that. I grab my bag tightly, feeling the weight of my dreams and aspirations within it, reminding myself of the path I've chosen. The journey back home feels like a race against time, my feet moving faster than ever before. The familiar streets blur as I sprint towards the sanctuary that awaits me. The world around me becomes a mere backdrop, insignificant compared to the turmoil within.

No one wanted to let go. And neither did I. I closed my eyes. This wasn’t just a house. These weren’t just people. This was home. And I had finally returned to myself. I was free.

And I realized this place had become a home without my announcing it. Not because I’d decided it would be. But because I kept returning to myself while living here. That night, Cassian sent a message that made me pause. Him: I’m starting to think home is where you stop negotiating with yourself. I stared at the screen for a moment. Me: Then we’ve both found one. The reply came a little later. Him: Yes. And we keep choosing it separately, and together. I set the phone down and leaned back against the couch, the room quiet around me.

Maybe I needed to run away so I could finally come home. To myself.

"And you go home." ***

He was successful in finding me, and bringing me home. Home is not a place. Home is not a house or an apartment, or any kind of building. Home is a person. Home is where you belong with someone more than you belong in any space or location. I may not have a place to lay my head anymore or a building full of belongings and memories, but I have a person who needs me, a person who calls me home, too. How can I stay here, even in the warmth of my parents’ embrace, something I never thought I’d feel again, and not go back to him?