Chapter 55: The Room Where I Became Myself
The train back to the city felt different.
Not heavy, not rushed—just quiet. The kind of quiet that settles when something is coming, and you know you can't avoid it anymore. Oriana sat by the window, watching the trees slide by like dreams she'd already let go of. Anya sat beside her, not speaking unless Oriana did first.
And Oriana didn't speak.
Not because she didn't want to—but because her thoughts were too soft to say aloud just yet.
She'd tucked the letter into her journal again, between two pages she hadn't written on. It felt like a place waiting to be filled—not by words, but by something real. Something she would have to live through before she could give it language.
"Do you want me to come with you?" Anya finally asked.
Oriana didn't turn her head. She just said, "Yes. But not into the room."
Anya nodded. "I'll wait outside. As long as it takes."
And that was enough.
The meeting was set for the following day.
A small tea shop near the train station. Not fancy. Not quiet, either. The kind of place where the clinking of cups and the hum of conversation could cover the sound of things unspoken.
Oriana dressed simply—no jewelry, no makeup. Just a soft gray shirt and her favorite pants, the ones with the slightly frayed seam near the ankle. She didn't want to look like someone new. She just wanted to look like herself.
When they arrived, Anya stopped a few steps before the entrance.
She took Oriana's hand and squeezed it gently. "You can still leave. You can still say no."
"I know," Oriana said. "But if I walk away without seeing him, he'll still be inside me. I need to meet him so I can stop carrying the version I created."
Anya nodded, then leaned in and kissed Oriana's forehead.
"Then I'll be here," she whispered. "Always."
Oriana stepped inside.
The tea shop was warm and a little crowded. She scanned the room—and then saw him.
He hadn't changed much.
His hair was grayer than she remembered, but his posture was the same—slightly bent, as if life had taught him how to shrink. His hands were folded tightly on the table. There was a teacup in front of him, untouched. His eyes found hers almost instantly, and for a second, he didn't move.
Then, slowly, he stood.
"Oriana."
She nodded.
He didn't try to hug her. Didn't reach across the table. And for that, she was grateful.
She sat down.
They stared at each other for a few seconds. And in that moment, she realized how little she knew about him—not just as a father, but as a person. He looked ordinary. Fragile. A little tired. Not the ghost she had imagined all these years. Not the monster. Just… a man.
"I wasn't sure you'd come," he said quietly.
"I wasn't either," Oriana replied.
"I'm sorry."
She said nothing.
He continued, voice trembling just slightly. "I know it's too late to be a father. I know I don't deserve this conversation. But I… I needed to try. To say it out loud."
Oriana looked at him, her face unreadable. "Why now?"
"Because silence has started to feel like a second betrayal. First I left. Then I disappeared. And I thought that maybe if I gave you time, you'd grow up without needing me. But I realize now… that was cowardice."
She tilted her head. "And you weren't a coward before?"
He swallowed hard. "I was always a coward."
There was no anger in her voice when she said, "I used to wonder what I did wrong. What about me made you go."
His eyes welled. "It wasn't you."
"I know that now," Oriana said. "But it took me years. Years of looking in mirrors and trying to find something broken."
He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. "I'm sorry I gave you that."
"I'm not here to forgive you," she said.
He nodded. "I didn't come for forgiveness."
They were quiet for a long time.
Then Oriana asked, "Do you still think about me?"
"Every day."
"Do you know who I am now?"
"No. But I'd like to."
She shook her head. "You don't get to. You lost that right."
He looked down.
"I'm not the girl you left," she continued. "That girl cried herself to sleep every night for a year. She hid her sadness in notebooks and forgot how to ask for help. But she grew. She learned to speak again. She learned what love sounds like."
He nodded slowly. "I'm glad. Even if I wasn't there to see it."
She leaned forward, folding her hands.
"I'm not here to open a door. I'm here to close one."
He met her eyes. "Then I'm grateful you let me be present for that."
Oriana stood.
He stood, too.
"Will I see you again?" he asked, voice barely above a whisper.
"No," she said gently. "But I'll remember this."
She turned and walked toward the door.
Outside, Anya stood in the shade, holding two bottled teas. When she saw Oriana, she didn't rush forward. She just opened her arms.
And Oriana walked into them.
She didn't cry.
She didn't collapse.
She just rested her head on Anya's shoulder and said, "It's done."
Anya held her close. "I'm proud of you."
"Thank you," Oriana whispered. "For waiting."
They walked home in silence, fingers interlaced.
The sun was beginning to set, casting gold across the sidewalk and touching the windows of cars as they passed.
At a traffic light, Anya turned to her. "Was it what you expected?"
"No," Oriana said. "It was smaller."
Anya smiled. "That's how most pain ends, isn't it? Not with a bang. Just with a breath."
Oriana nodded. "I feel like I finally took my voice back."
"And I'm here for every word," Anya whispered.
They spent the evening wrapped in each other. Not as comfort. Not as distraction. Just as presence. Oriana took off her shoes at the door, let her bag fall, and didn't bother cleaning up anything.
They curled on the couch. Oriana read aloud. Anya dozed off with her head on Oriana's lap.
And in that stillness, something settled.
Not closure.
Not the end of grief.
But a beginning.
A place to breathe from.
A place to love from.
The room where Oriana had once carried the weight of silence… now echoed softly with her own voice.
And Anya's laughter.
And the sound of a life being lived.