"Packing done?" Mama asked for what felt like the hundredth time.

I groaned, pausing mid-fold with an exasperated look. "Yes, Mama. For the tenth time, yes."

She raised her hands in surrender, a teasing smile playing on her lips. "Okay, okay, just checking. You always forget something last minute."

I huffed, stuffing another shirt into my suitcase. She wasn't wrong.

"What's the weather like tomorrow?" Dadi asked, perched on my bed, watching me scramble through my luggage for any last-minute missing items.

"It's almost spring there, so just a little chilly," I replied, my voice softer than usual. The weight of my departure, now only a few hours away, pressed heavily against my chest.

Dadi hummed, nodding thoughtfully. "Toh sweater pehen lena. Aur dupatta bhi. Hawa lagegi toh bimaar hojaogi." (Then wear a sweater. And a scarf too. If the wind hits, you'll fall sick.)

I smiled, sitting beside her. "Ji, Dadi."

Her wrinkled hand reached up to pat my cheek. "Meri pyari bachi. Pata nahi agle chh'mahine tak teri shakal bhi dekhni naseeb hogi ya nahi." (My sweet girl. Who knows if I'll even get to see your face until the next six months?)

"Ma exams ke baad toh wapas aa rahi hoon, Dadi," I reassured her, though my throat tightened at the thought of being away for so long. (I'll come after my exams Dadi.)

She sighed dramatically, wiping an invisible tear. "Haan haan, chali ja. Hum budhon ki kismat mein toh bas yaadain reh jati hain." (Yes, yes, go. We old people are only left with memories.)

I rolled my eyes, wrapping my arms around her in a tight hug. "Aap mujhe miss karengi?" (Will you miss me?)

She scoffed, feigning disinterest. "Bilkul nahi." (Not at all.)

I laughed, burying my face in her dupatta, inhaling the comforting scent of sandalwood and rose attar. This house, this family—how was I supposed to leave all of this behind?

_

The night air was full of emotions, wrapping around me like a heavy embrace. Arham and Ali were busy loading my suitcases into the car, their movements swift and efficient, while I stood frozen near the doorway, drowning in goodbyes.

Dadi was the first to pull me into a crushing hug, her frail arms surprisingly strong. "Zyada mat ro. Garmi lag jayegi phir." (Don't cry too much. You'll overheat.) Her voice wobbled despite the playful remark.

I let out a teary chuckle, clutching her dupatta as if holding onto her would somehow make this easier. "Aap apni dawai time pe lena, thik hai?" (Take your medicines on time, okay?)

She patted my back, whispering a quiet Allah hafiz before stepping back.

Then came Mama. Oh, Mama. Her eyes were already swollen, and the second I leaned into her arms, her silent sob turned into a full-blown cry.

"Mama," I whimpered, pressing my face against her shoulder. "Main bas padhne ja rahi hoon... wapas bhi aungi." (I'm just going to study... I'll come back too.)

She cupped my face, pressing kisses to my forehead, my cheeks. "Pata nahi kyun lag raha hai jaise mera dil nikal raha ho." (I don't know why it feels like my heart is being taken away.)

I had no words—just tears.

Baba, standing beside us, cleared his throat, his usual strong demeanor cracking. "Bas karo dono. Iman koi jung pe nahi ja rahi." (Enough, you two. Iman isn't going to war.)

I let out a teary laugh, stepping towards him. He opened his arms instantly, and I sank into them, feeling like a little girl all over again.

"Beta, duaon mein yaad rakhna," he murmured, pressing a lingering kiss to my head. (Remember us in your prayers, my child.)

"I promise." My voice was barely above a whisper.

Ali, who had been watching with a blank expression, finally walked over, his lips pressed into a thin line. "Bas, drama band karo. Time horaha hai." (Enough, stop the drama. It's getting late.)

I glared at him through my tears. "Tumhe toh bohot maza araha hoga na?" (You must be really enjoying this, huh?)

He smirked. "Bohot." (A lot.)

Arham rolled his eyes, dragging me into a quick hug. "Take care, chipkali." (Take care, lizard.)

I groaned at the nickname, smacking his shoulder lightly before stepping back.

The car door was open. The suitcases were packed. The reality of it all came crashing down on me.

I was really leaving.

The drive to the airport was quiet—too quiet. The weight of goodbyes still lingered in the air.

Baba was in the passenger seat, his fingers tapping against his knee, lost in thought. Haroon sat beside me, slouched comfortably, but I knew him well enough to notice the stiffness in his posture. Nimra, on the other hand, had her head resting on my shoulder, her sniffles barely audible.

Ali was driving, his eyes fixed on the road, his usual smirk nowhere in sight.

I let out a slow breath, my fingers gripping the strap of my bag. The city lights blurred past the window, but my mind was elsewhere—on the home I was leaving behind, on the people who had been my entire world.

"You still have time to change your mind," Haroon teased, nudging me lightly. "Stay. Who needs London?"

I let out a small laugh, shaking my head. "Tempting, but no."

Nimra sniffled. "I still don't get why you're so excited to live alone. I would've stayed at Uncle Noraiz's in a heartbeat."

I shot her a look. "That's because you have no shame."

She gasped, pulling away to glare at me. "Excuse me? At least I wouldn't be stubborn for no reason."

Ali scoffed from the front. "I agree with Nimra for once."

I gasped, clutching my chest. "Traitor."

Haroon chuckled, but the amusement faded quickly. Silence settled once again, the only sound being the distant hum of the city and the soft melody playing on the radio.

Baba finally spoke, his voice calm yet firm. "Iman, just remember, no matter how far you go, this will always be home."

I swallowed hard, nodding. "I know, Baba."

I did. But knowing didn't make leaving any easier.

The airport lights came into view, and my heart clenched. This was it.

_

I took a deep breath, steadying myself before turning to them. "I should go now. I need enough time to figure out how to pass through all that airport chaos."

Baba's eyes softened as he nodded, reaching out to adjust the dupatta on my shoulder like he always did. "Take your time. No rush. You already know the basics, but listen carefully, Iman." His voice was gentle but firm.

Ali stood beside him, arms crossed, his usual smugness replaced by something unreadable. "You'll go straight to check-in first. Make sure your documents are ready, and don't keep shuffling through your bag like a lost kid," he muttered.

I rolled my eyes. "Yes, Captain Obvious."

Ali ignored me, continuing. "After that, you go through security. Don't panic if they stop you for extra checking, it's routine."

"I'm not going to get arrested, Ali," I said dryly.

"You never know," Haroon added, smirking. "She does have a habit of looking guilty even when she hasn't done anything."

Baba sighed, placing a hand on my head in silent affection. "After security, find your gate first before doing anything else, even if you get distracted by duty-free shops."

Nimra sniffled beside me, her lower lip wobbling. "Can't you just—just change your mind?"

I turned to her, my heart squeezing. "Nimra..."

She groaned, wiping at her eyes aggressively. "I hate this. You're going to go off, have an exciting life, and I'll be stuck here missing you."

I chuckled, pulling her into a tight hug. "You'll survive. And I'll call every day."

"Better," she mumbled against my shoulder.

Haroon let out a dramatic sigh. "This is all too emotional. Can't we just shove her inside and call it a day?"

I smacked his arm, earning a laugh from him.

But then Baba's voice brought the teasing to a halt. "It's time."

I turned to him, feeling my throat close up. He didn't say anything, just opened his arms.

And that was when I broke.

I buried my face in his chest, my hands gripping his kameez tightly, not caring who saw my tears. "I'll make you proud, Baba," I whispered.

He held me close, his voice thick with emotion. "You already have, beta."

I squeezed my eyes shut, memorizing the warmth, the scent of home, before finally forcing myself to step back.

Ali gave me a long look before ruffling my hair. "Don't be stupid there, okay?"

I nodded, biting my lip.

With one last glance at them all, I took a step back. Then another.

And then I turned around and walked away.

_

I wiped my face quickly as I stepped into the airport, my heart hammering in my chest. Alright, Iman. You got this.

First stop—check-in.

I rolled my suitcase forward, clutching my documents like my life depended on them. The airline staff barely looked at me as they took my passport and ticket, asked a few routine questions, and tagged my luggage. With one final glance at my suitcase—goodbye, my entire life in a bag—I watched it disappear down the conveyor belt.

Next up—immigration.

I inhaled deeply, stepping into the queue, my hands still gripping my passport as if it might grow legs and run away. The officer barely glanced at me before stamping my passport and nodding toward the exit.

Okay. That wasn't so bad.

Security came next. I held my breath as my handbag went through the scanner, mentally praying I hadn't accidentally packed something that would make me look like a criminal.

Beep.

I froze.

Oh, wait. That was the person behind me.

I sighed in relief, grabbed my bag, and walked off like I totally belonged here.

Once past security, I found my gate—check! Now, with nothing else to do, I sat down, my nerves finally settling. This is happening.

Just as I was scrolling through my phone, I heard a warm, cheery voice beside me.

"Beta, yeh seat khali hai?" (Dear, is this seat empty?)

I looked up to see an aunty—probably in her mid-50s, wearing a beautiful teal-colored shalwar kameez and a shawl draped over her shoulders. Her round face glowed with a kind smile, her eyes twinkling with warmth.

"Oh, ji bilkul," I said, quickly moving my bag. (Oh yes, of course.)

She plopped down beside me with a happy sigh, adjusting the shawl around her. "Haye, safar bohot lamba hai. Tum bhi London ja rahi ho?" (Ah, the journey is so long. Are you going to London too?)

I nodded, smiling. "Ji, studies ke liye." (Yes, for studies.)

Her face lit up. "Mashallah, bohot mubarak ho! Pehli dafa ja rahi ho?" (Mashallah, congratulations! Is this your first time traveling?)

"Ji."

She tsked, shaking her head. "Phir toh tum bohot emotional ho rahi hogi. Dekho, rona mat! Ammi Abbu ki yaad toh aani hi hai, lekin himmat rakhni chahiye." (Then you must be really emotional. Look, don't cry! You'll miss your parents, of course, but you have to stay strong.)

I let out a small laugh, her motherly tone instantly comforting. "I tried, but..." I motioned toward my slightly swollen eyes.

She chuckled. "Hota hai, hota hai. Tumhe pata hai, jab mera beta pehli dafa gaya tha, toh main bhi din raat roti rahi thi." (It happens, it happens. You know, when my son first left, I cried day and night too.)

I smiled at that, watching as she opened her handbag and rummaged through it. After a second, she pulled out a small container, pushing it toward me.

"Lo, ye achaar le lo. Mere bete ke liye leke ja rahi hoon, par ek tum bhi rakho. Wahan jaake yaad aayegi tumhe." (Here, take this pickle. I'm taking it for my son, but you should have some too. You'll miss it when you get there.)

I blinked, completely caught off guard. "Aunty, yeh—"

"Bas, bas," she said, waving off my protests. "Beta, jab tum kisi ki maa se milti ho, toh gifts lena parhta hai." (Beta, when you meet a mother, you have to accept gifts.)

I pressed my lips together, warmth flooding my chest as I carefully took the small container from her hands. "Shukriya, aunty. Aap bilkul farishta hain." (Thank you, aunty. You're truly an angel.)

She beamed. "Aur tum ek bohot pyari bachi ho." (And you're a very sweet girl.)

Just like that, the ache of leaving home lessened—if only a little.