A Step Towards Change
The registration hall was brightly lit, but the light felt wearyfluorescent tubes overhead cast a sterile glow that did nothing to ease the tension. Beyond the wide windows stretched a grey, almost uniform sky, the lingering dampness of late March smudged against the glass where raindrops had dried. The queue snaked along ribbon barriers, passengers shuffling forward in slow, uneven steps, glancing at departure boards and the clocks above the check-in desks.
Veronica stood near the middle, clutching a small suitcase and a shoulder bag. She was forty-fivean age of fragile balance, where much lay behind her and uncertainty stretched ahead. She had always made her own decisions, though lately, it had become harder. Today wasnt just any trip; the move had been planned for months, but now was the moment when turning back was no longer an option. A rented flat and a new contract job awaited her in the next city. Here, she left behind familiar streets and a handful of faces from her old life.
The queue jerked forward in fits and starts. Ahead, a man argued with the clerk over luggage allowances; behind, snippets of conversation about flight times and layovers hummed intermittently. Veronica checked her phone absentlythe estate agents message had gone unread for hours.
Behind her stood a woman a little olderperhaps fifty-five or sixty. A dark coat buttoned neatly to her chin, a scarf wound tightly around her neck, a travel bag with an airline tag dangling from her wrist. She held herself with quiet composure, her gaze flickering between the departure board and the faces in the crowd.
Veronica caught her eye just as the queue stalled again.
Excuse me, the woman murmured, nodding toward the board. Which flight are you on?
Veronica pulled out her ticket.
The 5:40 to Manchester. Flight 248. You?
Same one. The woman gave a tense smile. Ive never quite got used to all this waiting.
A silence settled between them, the kind that often follows small talk between strangers in transit. The queue pressed tight, no urgency in the slow shuffle forward. To the right, someone adjusted a suitcase strap; to the left, a young man complained loudly into his phone about a delayed connection.
The woman shifted slightly closer.
Im Margaret. Sorry to intrudejust always a bit lost in these queues.
Veronica gave a faint smile.
No need to apologise. Everyone feels a bit out of place here.
The pause was brief, but the simple exchange had made the impersonal crowd feel slightly less oppressive.
The queue lurched forward another foot or so. Outside, dusk was deepening faster than expectedMarch hurrying into April without resistance. The departure board flickered with updates, but their flight number remained unchanged, still glowing the same dull yellow.
Looks like well be here a while longer, Veronica said without thinking.
Margaret exhaled softly.
I always get nervous before flying. More so nowtheres more at stake.
Her gaze drifted over the heads of the crowd, searching for something unseen. Sensing it, Veronica ventured:
Meeting someone there?
Margaret nodded, her eyes briefly darting away.
My son. We havent seen each other in years. I dont know how hell take it. I kept thinkingmaybe I shouldnt disrupt his life. But here I am. My hearts racing like a teenagers.
Veronica listened without interrupting. Inside, she felt a similar humnot fear, but anticipation, the kind you never quite grow used to. Suddenly, she found herself speaking more openly than she usually would with a stranger.
Im moving. Its terrifying. Leaving everything behindhabits, people. I dont even know if I can start over.
Margaret gave a quiet, dry laugh.
I suppose were both leaving something today. Youyour past. Me, maybe my pride. Or resentment.
Veronica nodded, sensing an unspoken thread between themnot pity, but recognition.
Then the loudspeaker crackled: a twenty-minute delay. A ripple of sighs passed through the hall; some passengers peeled away to find seats.
Veronica and Margaret stayed standing. Margaret adjusted her scarf, as if gathering her thoughts.
I debated coming for months. My son hadnt written. I didnt know where I stood. Sometimes it feels easier to leave things as they are than risk being turned away again.
Veronica felt an urge to reassure her, even if only with a look.
Sometimes change is the only way to feel alive, she said quietly. Im scared toothat Ill fail, that itll all be for nothing. But not trying would leave nothing but regret.
A brief silence fell. The air had grown cooler; passengers tugged scarves tighter, some pulling blankets from their bags. Outside, the last of the daylight had gone, leaving reflections of the hall flickering on the glass.
Then Margaret spoke again, a little louder.
I spent years thinking I had to be strong. Never ask, never impose. But maybe strength is being the one to reach out first, even when youre afraid.
Veronica looked at her gratefully.
I was always afraid of being weak. But maybe weakness is refusing to step forward at all. Thank you for saying that.
The queue thinned slightly, but the tension between the check-in desks and the waiting crowd remainedtired now, almost resigned. Veronica and Margaret stood side by side, the silence between them no longer heavy but something shared. Veronica tightened her grip on her bag strap, feeling the rough fabric under her fingers. It was strange how voicing her fears aloud had made breathing a little easier.
Margaret glanced back at the departure boardno change. She exhaled sharply, then smiled at Veronica, genuine this time.
Thank you for listening. Sometimes a stranger understands better than anyone.
Veronica nodded. She knew that feeling to her core.
Then the loudspeaker announced: Passengers for Flight 248 to Manchester, please proceed to Gate 9 for boarding. The hall stirredbags rustled, coats were shrugged on. Veronica looked at her boarding pass, fingers tremblingnot with fear now, but the thrill of something new and irreversible.
Margaret pulled out her phone. The screen showed an unsent message to her son: *Ill be there soon.* Hesitating, she glanced at Veronica.
Maybe I should be the one to take the first step.
She typed quickly: *If youd like to meet me at arrivals, Id be glad.* Her finger hovered for a second before she hit send and slipped the phone away. Her face softenedshe looked younger, somehow.
The queue surged forward, passengers funnelling toward security. Voices mixed with announcements; someone yawned loudly nearby, scarf pulled up to their eyes.
Veronica glanced at the boardthe same yellow glow, but the unknown didnt seem so daunting now. She let go of some invisible weightwhether from Margarets words or her own resolve, she wasnt sure.
At the document check, the crowd splinteredsome called aside for baggage checks, others fumbling for passports.
Maybe well see each other again? Margaret asked, voice wavering slightly.
Veronica smiled.
Id like that. If you ever want to call or text
She dug out a pen and a scrap of paper from her bag.
Heres my number. Just in case.
Margaret saved it in silence, then suddenly pulled Veronica into a quick, one-armed hug.
Thank you for tonight.
Veronica squeezed her hand in replywords werent needed amid the boarding chaos.
Once through the gate, they drifted apart in the flow of passengers. Ahead, people hurried down the jet bridge; someone jogged to catch up, backpack half-unzipped.
Veronica paused by the glass partition, watching the tarmac lights blur through reflections. She took a deep breaththe air was cool, sharp with the faint draft from a service door.
She pulled out her phone, opening a chat with an old friend from home. Without overthinking, she typed: *Im on my way.* A full stop, no ellipsisno uncertainty left in that single point. Then she switched to her landlords messages, confirming her arrival time before locking the screen.
Margaret was among the last through the gate, her scarf ruffled by the wind from the open door. She smoothed it absently just before stepping into the jet bridgeher face lighter now, as if a weight had lifted. Her phone buzzed: her son had replied. *Ill be waiting.* She hesitated only a second at the threshold, then walked forward without looking back.
Behind them, the departure hall emptied, lights dimming over deserted check-in desks. The last passengers hurried through security; conversations faded into the distant rumble of engines and the occasional click of heels on polished floors.
And just like that, both women disappeared into the stream of travellerseach carrying their own quiet relief beyond the artificial glow of the terminal, toward whatever lay ahead under the night sky.
