You Began To Feel Like Home Novels & Stories

We were real. Homogeneous. And for the first time, right there with my legs braced against Kellan’s, I allowed myself to feel it in my bones. This. Was home.

** By the third day of living there, I finally started to feel like this place was no longer just somewhere I was temporarily staying, but somewhere that could actually be called home. Home. The word itself felt strangely unfamiliar to me now. For the longest time, I thought home meant a husband, children, a complete family—the kind of picture people frame and place on top of fireplaces. I used to hate being alone so much that silence itself felt unbearable. But now I was beginning to understand something I had resisted for years: people are lonely by nature. No matter how deeply you love someone, there are still parts of life only you can walk through yourself. And somehow, with each passin

It felt like coffee and newspapers and Deluca washing dishes and Lucia asleep on the couch and Maya coming next month and a lease that was going to be renewed. It felt like the first thing that had ever felt completely right. It felt like home.

I set an early alarm, which I rarely did, and went to sleep. --- The next day came like a flash. Celeste was extraordinary, and there were moments in that room, moments I had not planned for and could not have anticipated, when I understood for the first time what people meant when they said someone made them feel at home. Not the building. Not the location. The person. I had not felt at home anywhere since I was fourteen years old. I left before I could think too carefully about what that meant. When Sparrow pulled the car away from the gate, I looked back at the house through the tinted window.

It felt like the beginning. End

“Home?” I repeated in question. Home. I lived from one orphanage to another. I didn’t really have a permanent place to stay. I was alone but wasn’t lonely. I didn’t have a shelter of my own but I was home. For eighteen years, wherever I went, I was home. At first, I find it weird being comfortable with a new place at an instant, feeling home, but now I know why. It was because home was following me. Home doesn’t refer to a thing with doors and windows. Home is a person or even a ghost. Sadness slowly crept in my system. I just lost that home. Recently, I discovered that I got myself another home, Grip, but I lost them both right after another.

It was time to go home. Even though home didn’t feel like home anymore.

Not just in my mind, but deep in the core of my soul, settling like a warm, comforting balm. I was home.

And in that quiet, steady moment, finding our way back didn’t feel like going in circles. It felt like coming home.

And for the first time in a very, very long time— I felt home.