The flight back home was quiet, the cabin dimmed as the plane soared over continents. Mira leaned her head against the window, her reflection flickering faintly in the glass. Her thoughts were as turbulent as the clouds they sliced through.
This wasn't just a trip—it was a return. Not just to her country, but to the pieces of herself she had long buried.
Noah sat beside her, his jacket draped over her shoulders. He didn't speak much, sensing the weight of her silence. But his presence alone was grounding.
She reached out, linking their fingers together. "I haven't been back since my father's funeral."
Noah looked at her. "Are you ready?"
"No," she whispered. "But I need to be."
---
The airport in Lagos was warm and bustling, a chaotic rhythm of voices, luggage wheels, and the smell of humid tarmac. Mira took a long breath as she stepped out into it all, her heels clicking on the polished floor.
Memories rushed her—of childhood summers, of her father's laughter echoing through their compound, of late-night suya and the glow of oil lamps during blackouts.
She clenched Noah's hand a little tighter.
They arrived at the family home by dusk. It was a modest yet beautiful two-story building, faded slightly with time. A few relatives were waiting—faces she hadn't seen in years, some familiar, others aged.
Her aunt, Mama Ozioma, opened her arms wide. "Mira! Ah, my child, you're finally home."
Mira folded into her embrace and for the first time in a long while, she wept.
---
That evening, Mira walked through her father's study. His glasses still sat on the desk, as though he'd return any moment. Dust covered the edges of his favorite chair, but the scent of his cologne lingered.
She found an old letter tucked inside one of his books—a note he had written but never sent.
> My dearest Mira,
I know life has pulled you far away, but I want you to remember—this place will always be home. Even when the world doesn't understand you, I always will. Fight for your voice, your dreams. Don't let them take it away. And when the noise gets too loud… come back. I'll be waiting.
Mira clutched the letter to her chest. "I'm sorry I didn't come sooner, Daddy."
---
Noah stood in the doorway, watching her silently.
She turned to him, her voice hoarse. "You didn't have to come with me."
"I know," he said. "But I wanted to."
They walked through the courtyard, beneath the old mango tree, the air filled with the scent of night flowers.
"This place… it's sacred," she said.
"And it's where you came from," he replied. "It's part of you."
She smiled faintly. "Maybe I needed to lose everything just to find my way back."
Noah pulled her close. "And maybe… this is where something new begins."