The departure lounge was bright, but the light felt tiredceiling lamps cast a flat white glow that did nothing to ease the tension. Beyond the wide windows stretched a dull, uniform sky, the kind you get in that awkward gap between seasons; dried raindrops streaked the glass by the entrance. The queue at the check-in desks coiled in long loops behind the stretched barrier tapes, moving in slow, shuffling bursts as people glanced up at the digital boards and the clocks above the counters.
Faith stood about halfway along, gripping a small suitcase and a crossbody bag. She was forty-fivean age of fragile balance, where so much was already behind her, and what lay ahead was nothing but uncertainty. She’d always made her own decisions, though lately, that had become harder. Today wasnt just any tripthe move had been planned for ages, but now was the moment when backing out wasnt an option. A rented flat and a contract job waited for her in the new city; behind her were familiar streets and a handful of faces from her old life.
The line jerked forward in fits and startssomeone up ahead argued with the check-in agent about baggage allowance, while murmurs behind her buzzed with flight times and connections. Faith absently checked her phonethe estate agents message had gone unread for hours.
Behind her stood a woman a little oldermid-fifties, maybe sixty. A dark coat buttoned neatly to the chin, a scarf snug around her neck, a travel bag with an airline tag dangling from her wrist. She held herself carefully, her gaze flickering between the departure boards and the faces around her.
Faith accidentally met her eyes just as the queue stalled again.
«Excuse me which flight are you on?» the woman asked quietly, nodding toward the boards.
Faith glanced at her ticket. «Manchester Flight two-forty-eight, evening departure. You?»
«Same one. I just cant seem to get used to all this fuss,» the woman replied with a strained smile.
They fell silentjust enough exchanged to bridge the gap between strangers in a sea of waiting. But the queue stayed packed tight, no point rushing; around them, faces flickered between weariness and blank detachment.
To the right, someone fussed with a suitcase strap. To the left, a young man loudly complained to his parents about a delayed connection. The woman behind Faith shifted closer.
«Im Margaret. Sorry to bother youI just always get lost in these queues.»
Faith gave a faint smile. «Dont worry. Were all a bit adrift hereI still feel like an outsider every time.»
The pause was brief, but the simple exchange eased something in both of them, a tiny anchor in the impersonal crowd.
The line inched forward another foot or so; they shuffled along with the rest, dragging their carry-ons over the carpet. Outside, dusk was falling faster than expectedMarch seemed in a hurry to hand things over to April without resistance.
A new announcement flickered onto the boardanother flight opening for check-in. Theirs still glowed the same unchanging yellow. «Looks like weve got a while yet,» Faith thoughtand the words slipped out.
Margaret answered softly, «I always get nervous before flying. Even more so now, with extra reasons to worry.»
Her gaze drifted over the heads ahead, as if searching for something in the blur of silhouettes.
Faith, catching that look, suddenly asked: «Someone waiting for you there?»
Margaret nodded, eyes dropping. «My son. We havent seen each other in years. Dont even know how hell take it. All this time I thoughtmaybe I shouldnt intrude. And now here I am. Heart racing like a schoolgirls.»
Faith listened, quiet. Inside her, something hummed toonot fear, but anticipation, the kind you never get used to. She found herself saying more than she usually would:
«Im moving. Scared too. Leaving everything herehabits, people. No idea if starting over will work.»
Margaret gave a quiet huff of laughter. «Suppose were both leaving something behind today. Youyour past. Me maybe my pride. Or my grudges.»
Faith nodded, sensing an invisible thread between themnot pity, but recognition.
Then the tannoy crackledtheir flight was delayed twenty minutes. A ripple of sighs passed through the lounge; some people broke off to find seats.
Faith and Margaret stayed put. Margaret adjusted her scarf, gathering herself.
«I spent ages debating whether to come. My son hadnt written in so longdidnt know how he felt about me now. Sometimes its easier to leave things as they are than risk being shut out again.»
Faith felt a sudden urge to offer somethingeven just a look. She said quietly, «Sometimes change is the only way to feel alive. Im scared toothat Ill fail, that itll all be for nothing. But not trying just leaves regret.»
For a second, both were silent. Around them, the air grew coolerpeople tugged scarves tighter, someone pulled out a travel blanket. Beyond the windows, night had nearly settled, their reflections sharpening against the glass.
Then Margaret spoke, just a little firmer:
«I spent years thinking being strong meant never asking, never imposing. Now I wondermaybe strength is being the one to reach out first, even when youre afraid.»
Faith looked at her with gratitude. «And I always thought needing help was weakness. But maybe weakness is refusing to step toward change. Thanks for saying that.»
The queue had thinned, but tension still hung between the desks and the travellerstired now, almost resigned. Faith and Margaret stood side by side; after their talk, the silence between them didnt press down but wrapped around them like something shared. Faith gripped her bag strap, the rough fabric familiar under her fingers. It struck her how easy it had been to say her fears aloudand how, just like that, breathing came a little lighter.
Margaret checked the board againtheir flight status hadnt budged. She exhaled, shoulders dropping, then suddenly smiled at Faithreally smiled, no politeness stretched thin over it.
«Thank you for listening. Funny how a stranger can feel closer than anyone sometimes.»
Faith noddedshe knew that feeling right down to her bones. For a while, they stood quietly; somewhere nearby, suitcase wheels thudded dully over tile as someone hurried to another desk.
Then the tannoy announced: «Passengers for flight two-forty-eight to Manchester, please proceed to gate nine for boarding.» The lounge stirredpeople shuffled, bags rustled, coats were shrugged on. Faith glanced at her boarding pass and felt a tremor in her fingersnot fear now, but the prickle of something new and irreversible.
Margaret slowly pulled her phone from an inner pocket. On the screen: an unsent message to her sonjust three words, «Im coming soon,» typed but never delivered before she left home. She glanced at Faith.
«Suppose someones got to take the first step.»
She added carefully: «If you want to meet me at arrivalsId like that.» Her finger hovered. Then she pressed send and tucked the phone away. Her face softenedto Faith, she even looked younger.
The queue surged forward, passengers funneling toward security. Announcements tangled with chatter; someone yawned loudly, scarf pulled up to their eyes.
Faith looked up at the boardtheir destination still glowed the same yellow, but now it didnt seem so daunting. She let go of some inner anchormaybe Margarets honesty had steadied her, maybe her own resolve had just grown teeth in this moment of no return.
They reached the document check. The crowd splinteredsome called aside for bag checks, others fumbling for passports.
«Maybe well see each other again?» Margaret asked, her voice barely shakingfrom nerves or the long days fatigue.
Faith smiled warmly. «Why not? If you ever want to call or text»
She dug a pen from her bag and scribbled on a spare airline voucher: «Heres my number. Just in case.»
Margaret saved it silently, then suddenly hugged herquick, tight, one-armed.
«Thank you. For tonight.»
Faith squeezed her hand backwords werent needed in the boarding rush.
Once through security, they drifted apart in the stream of passengers heading for gate nine, slowing only brieflyno time now for looking back. Up ahead, people hurried down the jet bridge; someone jogged to catch up, backpack half-unzipped.
Faith paused by the glass partition near the gate. Beyond the reflections of the crowd, the tarmac stretched under the glare of service lights. She took a deep breaththe air was dry, faintly chilled by a draught from the staff door.
She pulled out her phone. A quick swipe opened a chat with an old friend from home. Without overthinking, she typed: «On my way,» ending it with a full stopno hesitation left in that tiny dot. Then she switched to the estate agents messages, confirmed her arrival time for tomorrow, and locked the screen.
Margaret was among the last through the gate, her scarf slightly ruffled by the jet bridges draft. She adjusted it, face easingthe wait was over. Her phone buzzed quietly: her sons reply, just three words. «Ill be there.» She lingered a second at the corridors edgethen stepped forward into the planes light without turning back, each movement carrying the quiet surety of someone whod chosen, at last, to reach out first.
Behind them, the lounge emptied. The check-in desks dimmed; the last stragglers hurried through security. Most chatter had died away, leaving only the distant hum of machinery and the occasional click of staff shoes on polished floors.
And then both women were gone, absorbed into the flow of travellerseach carrying her own kind of relief beyond the artificial light, toward whatever new morning waited beyond the airports night-blackened windows.
