**A Step Towards Change**
The registration hall was brightly lit, though the light felt tiredfluorescent tubes cast a sterile white glow that did nothing to ease the air. Outside the wide windows stretched a dull, uniform sky, the kind seen in late springs uncertain pause; dried raindrops streaked the glass by the entrance. The queue coiled like a snake behind taped barriers, inching forward as passengers glanced at the departure boards and the clocks above the counters.
Faith stood near the middle, gripping a small suitcase and a shoulder bag. She was forty-fivean age of fragile balance, where much was already behind her, and what lay ahead was uncertain. She had always made her own decisions, though lately, even that had grown harder. Today wasnt just any tripthe move had been planned for months, but now, retreat was impossible. A rented room and a contract job awaited her in the new city; behind her were familiar streets and a handful of faces from her past.
The queue lurched forward in stops and starts. Ahead, a man argued with the clerk about luggage allowances; behind her, murmurs of flight times and layovers filled the air. Faith absently checked her phonea message from the estate agent had gone unread for hours.
Behind her stood a woman a little oldermid-fifties, perhapsin a dark coat buttoned to the chin, a scarf snug around her neck, and a travel bag with an airline tag dangling from the handle. She carried herself with quiet composure, her gaze flickering between the departure boards and the faces in the queue.
Their eyes met just as the line stalled again.
“Sorrywhich flight are you on?” the woman asked softly, nodding toward the board.
Faith glanced at her ticket.
“Manchester… Flight two-forty-eight, evening departure. You?”
“The same,” the woman replied, her smile tight. “I still cant get used to all these procedures.”
They fell silentenough exchanged for strangers in the shared limbo of travel. The queue remained motionless, packed tight, no urgency left in anyone. To the right, someone adjusted a suitcase strap; to the left, a young man complained loudly on the phone about a delayed connection. The woman behind Faith shifted slightly closer.
“Im Olivia. Sorry for intrudingI always get lost in these queues…”
Faith smiled faintly. “Its alright. Everyones a bit out of place hereI still feel like a stranger every time.”
The pause was brief, but the simple exchange eased something in both of them.
The line jolted forward another foot; they stepped in unison, dragging their bags over the thin airport carpet. Outside, dusk fell faster than expectedMarch hurrying to give way to April without protest.
A new announcement flashed on the boardanother flight now boardingbut theirs remained unchanged, the same amber glow. “Looks like well be here a while,” Faith murmured aloud.
Olivia sighed softly. “I always get nervous before flights. Especially now, when theres more reason than usual.” Her gaze drifted over the crowd, searching for something unseen.
Faith sensed it and ventured, “Someone waiting for you there?”
Olivia nodded, eyes down. “My son. Havent seen him in years… Dont know how hell react. Kept thinkingmaybe I shouldnt disrupt his life.” She gave a dry laugh. “And yet, here I am. Heart racing like a schoolgirls.”
Faith listened without interrupting. Inside her, something hummed toonot fear, but anticipation, the kind that never dulled. Unexpectedly, she found herself saying more than she ever would to a stranger:
“Im moving. Scared too. Leaving everything behindhabits, people. No idea if Ill manage to start over.”
Olivia exhaled quietly. “Suppose were both leaving something today. Youyour past. Me, maybe my pride. Or my grudges.”
Faith nodded, sensing an invisible thread between themnot pity, but recognition.
Then the PA crackled: a twenty-minute delay. A ripple of sighs passed through the hall; some hurried to find seats.
Faith and Olivia stayed standing. Olivia adjusted her scarf, as if collecting herself.
“I debated this trip for months. My son stopped writingdidnt know how he felt about me now. Sometimes it feels easier to leave things untouched than risk being turned away again.”
Faith felt the 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.”
For a moment, neither spoke. The air grew cooler; passengers tugged scarves tighter, some pulling blankets from their carry-ons. Beyond the glass, night had nearly settled, their reflections sharpening against the dark.
Then Olivia spoke again, firmer this time. “Spent my whole life thinking I had to be strong. Never ask, never impose. But now I wondermaybe strength is being the first to reach out, even when youre afraid.”
Faith met her eyes gratefully. “And I always feared being weak. But maybe weakness is refusing to face change. Thank you for saying that.”
The queue thinned slightly, but tension lingeredweariness settling in. Their silence now was comfortable, binding. Faith tightened her grip on her bag strap, the rough fabric grounding her. Saying her fears aloud had been easier than shed thoughtand somehow, breathing came a little lighter.
Olivia glanced at the boardno change. She exhaled, then smiled at Faith, genuinely this time.
“Thank you… for listening. Sometimes a stranger understands better than anyone.”
Faith noddedshe knew that feeling well. Around them, wheels clacked against tile as someone rushed to another desk.
Then the PA announced: *”Passengers for flight two-forty-eight to Manchester, please proceed to gate nine.”* The hall stirred; bags rustled, jackets zipped. Faith checked her boarding pass, her fingers tremblingnot with fear now, but the thrill of something new and irreversible.
Olivia pulled out her phonean unsent message to her son: *”Ill be there soon.”* She hesitated, then added: *”If youd like to meet me at arrivals, Id be glad.”* Her finger hoveredthen she sent it and tucked the phone away. Her face softenedalmost youthful again.
The queue surged forward, merging into the security line. Announcements overlapped; someone yawned loudly nearby, scarf pulled up to their eyes.
Faith looked at the boardthe destination still glowed amber, but the unknown didnt feel so daunting now. She let go of the pastwhether from Olivias words or her own resolve, she couldnt say.
At the document check, the crowd splinteredsome called aside for bag checks, others fumbling for passports.
“Maybe well see each other again?” Olivia asked, her voice trembling slightly.
Faith smiled warmly. “Why not? If you ever want to talk” She scribbled her number on a scrap of paper from her bag.
Olivia saved it silently, then hugged her brieflyone-armed, tight. “Thank you for tonight.”
Faith squeezed her hand in replyno words needed in the rush toward the gate.
Once through security, they slowed only brieflyno time to linger or look back. Ahead, passengers funneled toward the jet bridge; someone jogged past, backpack swinging.
Faith paused by the glass partition, watching the tarmac lights dissolve the nights chill. She took a deep breaththe air dry, faintly cold from a draft.
Pulling out her phone, she typed a message to an old friend: *”Im on my way.”* No ellipsis this timejust a full stop, finality in its certainty. Then she switched to the landlords chat, confirming her arrival time tomorrow.
Olivia passed through the gate last, her scarf ruffled by the wind. She straightened it, her face easedrelief in every step. Her phone buzzeda reply: *”Ill be waiting.”* She paused just once before stepping into the jet bridge, then moved forward without looking back, a quiet confidence in her stridethe kind that comes from choosing change, however late.
Behind them, the hall emptied, lights dimming over deserted counters. The last passengers hurried through security; conversations faded, replaced by the distant hum of engines and the occasional click of heels on polished floors.
And just like that, both women vanished into the stream of travelerseach carrying their own quiet relief beyond the artificial glow, toward the new day waiting beyond the airports night-darkened windows.
