The Return of the Novice

The train screeched softly as it came to a halt, the platform misty with early morning fog. Emily stared out of the window for a long moment before moving. The station hadn't changed - not really. The faded blue benches, the crooked clock over Platform 2, the worn-out map with peeling corners - all still there. But something felt different. Maybe it was her.

She rose slowly, suitcase in hand, heart heavier than it had been in months. The last time she stood on this platform, she had been unsure, naïve - a girl desperate to escape shadows she hadn't yet understood. Now, she had returned with a weighty calm, the kind born of breaking and healing, over and over again.

A breeze stirred her hair as she stepped off the train, her boots clicking softly on the stone tiles. Familiar voices floated from the distance - vendors calling, a train whistle far off. But it all felt slightly distorted, like hearing a song you used to love in another key.

Mrs. Lorna wasn't there to greet her. Emily hadn't told anyone the exact day of her return. She wasn't sure if she wanted a welcome, not yet. Part of her feared what she might see in their eyes - joy, pity, disappointment.

Dragging her suitcase down the path that led toward the village, Emily's thoughts drifted to the house on the hill - Lorna's house - where warm bread had once filled the air and wisdom came wrapped in silence. Would the door still creak the same way? Would the garden still bloom with wild roses?

She hadn't yet decided what she would say to Nathan.

The road forked near the old orchard, and Emily paused. The trees looked thinner now, bare from the season or from neglect - she couldn't tell. Her fingers grazed the bark of one gnarled tree, memories prickling the surface: laughter, arguments, that final conversation with Nathan before she left. The words had stuck to the air like damp clothes on a line.

It was then she noticed someone watching her.

Across the lane, near the chapel steps, stood a girl no older than sixteen. She had the same quiet gaze Emily once wore - observant, hesitant, hungry for something unnamed. Their eyes met, and something passed between them. Recognition, maybe. Not of faces, but of journeys. The girl gave a subtle nod before disappearing behind the chapel door.

Emily took a breath and continued on. By the time she reached the front gate of Mrs. Lorna's house, the sun had risen just enough to cast soft gold over the path.

The door opened before she could knock.

"You're late," Mrs. Lorna said with a soft smirk.

Emily smiled, swallowing emotion as she stepped inside. "I took the long way home."