Chapter 6
When I was little, I used to admire the migratory birds flying south–so carefree and unburdened, I dreamed of the poetic life described in my schoolbooks–wandering to the water’s edge, then sitting quietly to watch the clouds drift by.
Even back then, I planted a wish deep in my heart, that one day, I’d travel like the wind, exploring every corner of the world.
But then I fell for Fred, and marriage became a cage that slowly made me forget about that dream.
While I was recovering in the hospital, I started watching travel vlogs.
Hearing the waves crash against the rocks.
Watching the flickering lights of a street in a place far from home.
Walking barefoot along a trail in Hawaii, the tourists‘ palms brushed against the rough wood of a weathered totem. The scent of salt and plumeria hung in the warm breeze.
Something inside me stirred. I checked how much money I had in my account, packed a light bag, and picked Hawaii as the first stop on my journey.
To me, real freedom doesn’t mean drifting with no plan. It means being able to decide when to stay and when to leave.
I rented a cozy guesthouse near Lake Waiau. The local traditions and slower pace awakened a part of me I hadn’t heard from in years.
The coming days stretched out endlessly.
At five every morning, I wrapped myself in a shawl and sat by the lake at sunrise, watching golden light scatter across the water like little pieces of glass.
In the afternoon, I made rose tea in the greenhouse, writing with the soft sunlight shining through the vines, casting leafy shadows on my laptop screen.
When I had free time, I learned to make fresh flower pastries from the guesthouse’s owner.
Time here seemed to slow down and take its time.
And as I poured my heart into my writing, my words finally found their rhythm.
My newest novel hit over 10 million views online. With the royalties, I no longer had to worry about money.
When I left Hawaii, I replaced my SIM card, deleted my WhatsApp, and sent only one message–to my parents–say- ing I might be gone for a long while.
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Chapter 6
288 Vouchers
Only my editor had a way to reach me through email. No one else knew where I’d gone.
I didn’t have to plan my days around Fred anymore or force myself to eat food I never liked just to please him.
In the past two months, I haven’t touched a single plate of spaghetti or any of the Italian food I used to dread.
One day, I realized something strange–thinking about Fred didn’t hurt anymore.
The soft breeze from Waiau had quietly mended the cracks in me. Bit by bit, I found my spark again–the version of me who was bright, bold, and completely free.
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