JULIET
The cool evening air of New York City welcomed me as I walked down the airplane stairs. Despite my mixed emotions, my steps were steady, echoing against the ground beneath me. I took a deep breath, allowing the city's lively spirit to fill me, as I prepared for the challenges ahead. With determination, I continued forward, as steady as the tall buildings standing in the distance.
It's been five years since some tragic events made me leave the country.
But now I was back, and I planned to stay after the burial of my father.
I won't leave sadly this time around. I'll fight for my happiness, whatever it takes after all I had nothing else to loose. All my loved ones were already gone.
"You're the driver right?" I asked a middle aged man, as I stood in front of the black car. I recognized it as the one I booked online.
"Yes Ma'am" he nodded. "Let me help you with your bag" he walked over to my side as he put my luggages inside the boot of the car. The cool air was still hitting me across my face gently.
I opened the door and got in, settling down into the plush seats of the car. Soon, he was in the driver's seat, and in no time we drove out of the airport.
The airport was still pretty far from my house. Was it still my house? I wondered.
My step mom and her daughter must have become queens in it. I scoffed as I stared out of the window not wanting to think about them.
My purse rested on my lap, and I swiftly pulled out my phone, eager to dive back into the world of my novel. Writing was my escape from life's harsh realities. The story I was crafting centered around a strong female lead, and I had submitted it to a publishing company just before boarding the plane. I hoped they'd love it as much as I did, and that I'd soon receive a call to sign a contract. Fingers crossed, I immersed myself in my writing, weaving words together as the story unfolded.
I literally just wrote for fun, but since I found out that I could do what I love and still earn money, it only motivated me to move further. Writing was just a side hustle. I still planned on getting a good job in one of the companies in New York.
Thinking about companies, I wonder how my father's is doing?
My thoughts drifted as I indulged in typing my novel, I was currently at the last chapter and I hoped to finish it quickly so that if it gets approved I'll just have to submit the remaining chapters.
I don't know how long I typed, but I was already out of this real world, but the car screeched to an abrupt stop, making me jerk and in the process my phone fell off from my hands.
"What happened?" I demanded from the driver.
The driver's voice broke through the silence, an apologetic tone coloring his words. "I'm afraid there's something wrong with the car." My gaze shifted from his face, noting the encroaching darkness that enveloped our surroundings. I reached for my phone, the screen illuminating the time – 7:30 PM. With a surge of restlessness, I stepped out of the vehicle, my feet carrying me in a steady rhythm as I paced back and forth. My eyes remained fixed on the driver, watching as he made a call, presumably seeking help for our predicament.
"Great. Now I'm stuck in the middle of the road", I threaded my hands through my soft black hair as I sighed in frustration.
Is this New York's way of welcoming me back?
"Earlier, I drove past a hotel. Maybe you could stay there for the night?" The driver suggested as he stood before me.
"How far is it?" I asked standing akimbo.
"Just a stone throw. I'll help you with your luggages" he offered.
"It's okay, I'll just take a few things. Please open the boot" I muttered, rubbing my forehead. He nodded his head and did as I said.
I took out my small briefcase. My flash drive in which my novels where stored was all here, and some of the things my mom left behind for me.
I held the briefcase tightly as I hung my sleek purse on my shoulders.
"Please, make sure it gets repaired before tomorrow morning" I pleaded with the driver, even though my tone wasn't pleading enough.
"Of course. It would" I nodded as I began walking away.
After booking my room for the night, the receptionist handed me the keys.
The receptionist's professional smile accompanied her words, "Room 89." I returned the gesture, gratitude evident in my own expression, before making my way toward the elevator. As the doors parted on the designated floor, I found myself facing a long, elegant hallway. A mixture of anticipation and weariness washed over me as I navigated the corridor, searching for my temporary sanctuary.
Upon reaching Room 89, I was met with an elegant sight: pristine white walls adorned with tasteful art, luxurious silk curtains framing a picturesque window, and an inviting, spacious bed that promised a peaceful night's sleep. My fatigue quickly caught up with me as I decided to save further exploration for another time. A soothing bath beckoned, washing away the day's stress and leaving me refreshed enough to surrender to the irresistible call of slumber.
The gentle morning sunlight peeked through the curtains, stirring me from my restful sleep. In my tired state the previous evening, I had forgotten to close them, but the soft glow proved to be a welcoming alarm. I arose with a gentle stretch, dispelling any lingering traces of drowsiness. Making my way to the bathroom, I began my daily routine, focusing on the tasks at hand.
My reflection in the mirror revealed a transformation as I donned the attire requested from the room service: a modest, floor-length skirt, a flowing blouse, and a quaint hat that evoked a charming nostalgia, reminiscent of the 90s.
Despite the dated look, I couldn't help but feel a sense of Confidence in my unique appearance. A tight bun secured my hair, completing the ensemble.
Before departing, I reached for my phone, my fingers deftly unlocking the screen.
My novel, my passion project, had been approved by the publishing company – their response arriving with surprising swiftness. A broad smile graced my lips, joy and relief flooding my chest at the thought of signing the contract next week, once my father's burial had passed.
With my purse hanging from my shoulder, I bid farewell to the comfortable room and made my way through the winding hallway.
Soon, I found myself greeted by the brisk morning air outside the hotel. "Good morning," I warmly greeted the driver, who had been patiently awaiting my arrival.
"Morning," he replied with a nod, a hint of concern etched in his brow. "I couldn't help but notice that you entered the hotel with a briefcase yesterday. Is everything alright?"
A sharp gasp escaped my lips as the realization dawned upon me: in my haste and exhaustion, I had left the briefcase in my hotel room. "Oh, I forgot," I admitted, a tinge of embarrassment coloring my words. "Allow me to retrieve it. I promise to return quickly." With a reassuring smile, I placed my purse in the car and hastily retraced my steps back inside the hotel.
As I made my way through the not so familiar hallway, the number 89 appeared before me.
A brief thought crossed my mind, suggesting that my room lay further ahead, but I brushed it off as a mere trick of memory.
Rushing now, I pushed open the door, eager to reclaim my briefcase. However, my eyes widened in shock at the unexpected scene that I beheld.