Undone by Time | LINGORM

The cabin lights had dimmed to a soft amber, casting long shadows over rows of drowsy passengers. The low hum of the engines vibrated through the floor, steady and oddly comforting.

Mei sat by the window, her cheek resting against the cool plastic wall, watching Heathrow shrink slowly through the glass as the plane taxied toward the runway.

Ling and Orm were next to her, Ling in the middle, flipping through the movie catalogue already, and Orm adjusting her blanket like a seasoned traveller, her hand resting absently over Ling's forearm. They spoke in low murmurs, amused by something on the screen. Mei didn't catch the words.

Her eyes stayed on the asphalt, as they took off, then the clouds, and then the slow retreat of England itself.

It wasn't just London she was leaving behind.

It was Cambridge too. 

Her campus walks, the hush of the libraries, the late night study sessions powered by instant noodles, coffee and ambition. It was long walks home after lectures, when her headphones were full of pop music and her mind full of dreams she hadn't dared to say out loud yet. 

It was rain-slicked mornings, London Tube rides, and the smell of toast in the flat she lived in, on her own. It was her first job, her first courtroom, her first real taste of standing on her own two feet.

And it was Sarah.

That thought settled slowly.

Because England wasn't just her academic chapter, or her professional start. It was the place she had grown up with Sarah. Not just emotionally, but literally. 

From friends to girlfriends. From quiet hands squeezed in the sofa, watching a movie, to Sunday mornings tangled together in blankets, sunlight painting lazy stripes across the floor.

And also the goodbye. The distance. The attempt to let go.

Her chest tightened faintly.

Since she had returned to Bangkok, she and Sarah had found a strange kind of rhythm again. One call a week. Every Sunday, no matter the time zone. Just them, swapping updates like best friends who weren't sure where they stood, yet, but knew that the connection mattered too much to drop.

And every time, it felt like a tiny tether holding them together. 

Gentle, unspoken, steady.

But for the past two weeks, Sarah hadn't called.

Once was understandable, work emergency, she'd said. The second time, she'd messaged early in the morning with a string of apologies and an oddly quiet "next week for sure."

It wasn't like her.

But Mei hadn't pushed. She had written back, "It's okay. Just let me know when."

And now, watching that country that gave her so much, Mei stared down at the city below and whispered a quiet goodbye.

Goodbye to the girl she'd been when she first arrived.

Goodbye to the version of love that had taught her everything, including how to let go.

But not forever.

She still had one more call scheduled. The day after she landed.

And she would wait.

Because no matter what came next, whether it was a new beginning or a proper ending, she wanted to hear it from Sarah herself.

With her heart tucked somewhere between hope and patience, Mei closed her eyes and let the soft murmur of her mothers beside her anchor her back into the present.