Chapter 35

LEILA

The sky was still black when we dragged our suitcases out of the taxi and into the terminal. Everything felt too quiet for something so monumental. No crowds, no noise—just the sterile hum of overhead lights and the soft roll of our wheels across the polished floor. My body was awake only because adrenaline refused to let me sleep.

Elias handed over our passports at check-in, and I watched the agent stamp them, barely glancing up. Just another routine day for him. For us, it was the beginning of an entirely new chapter.

Once we made it to our seats on the plane—two spots near the window, still cold from the night—I finally let out the breath I’d been holding.

“Early flights,” Elias muttered, rubbing his eyes. “They should come with awards.”

“You say that like you didn’t volunteer for this time,” I teased.

“Only because it was cheap.”

I smiled, settling back as the engines came to life.

But beneath the banter, something heavier stirred—anticipation, anxiety, hope. A whole map’s worth of feelings, scattered across my chest.

Before we’d left the apartment, we’d called Darya, in spite of the ridiculously early hour. The memory of her voice still clung to me—tired, determined, almost urgent.

“I’m organizing everything,” she had said from Iran, trying to sound steadier than she was. “I want to leave as soon as possible. I’ve saved up some money. I’ll go to Istanbul, stay there for a few weeks—just until I figure out a path to Ireland.”

I asked her if she was sure. She told me she’d never been more sure of anything.

Part of me was thrilled she was ready. Part of me was terrified for her.

Elias squeezed my hand now, reading every thought on my face. “She’ll get there,” he said softly.

“I know,” I whispered. “I just hate that she has to do it alone.”

He nodded, brushing his thumb across my knuckles. “But we’re with her in every way we can be.”

The plane began to taxi. I pressed my forehead to the cool window and watched Berlin slide past—terminal lights, service trucks, the vague silhouettes of other planes. A city that had become home ... and that we were leaving behind.

As the plane lifted off, my stomach lurched, and so did my heart.

Elias leaned close. “Next stop: Ireland.”

“Next stop: Galway,” I corrected, grinning despite the knot in my throat.

A couple hours later, Ireland materialized beneath us—soft gray clouds breaking open to reveal a patchwork of green fields, winding roads, and scattered farmhouses. It didn’t look real. It looked like someone had painted it to match every cliché.

“Everything’s so green,” I said softly. “It’s not an exaggeration.”

When we stepped outside the small Shannon terminal, the air hit me first—damp, clean, cool. A breeze that smelled faintly of rain and sea.

“We’re here,” I said, more to myself than to Elias.

He set down his bag and looked around, as if expecting some kind of sign. “New country,” he murmured. “New life.”

“New future,” I added.

We stood there for a moment, just breathing it in—the strangeness, the beauty, the possibility. Everything we owned was packed into a few suitcases. Everything familiar was across an entire continent.

But we had each other.

And somewhere in Iran, with a packed bag and a brave heart, Darya was beginning her own journey toward us.

“Ready?” Elias asked.

I took his hand. “Ready.”

ELIAS

We picked up our rental car—a compact hatchback whose steering wheel was on the wrong side of everything—and Leila raised an eyebrow at me with unmistakable amusement.

“I trust you,” she said, “but also ... I don’t want to die today.”

I laughed, running my hand over the unfamiliar dashboard. “I don’t want to die today either. Or tomorrow. Or ever, really.” I pointed at the road markings like they were written in a foreign script. “Driving on the left. In the rain. In a brand-new country. What could possibly go wrong?”

She snorted. “Just go slow.”

“I plan to. Like an 85-year-old man with cataracts.”

She fastened her seatbelt very pointedly, which didn’t help my confidence but did make me laugh again.

Once I eased out of the airport parking lot and onto the main road, it wasn’t nearly as terrifying as I expected. Strange, yes. Backwards, absolutely. But manageable. The countryside of County Clare blurred past—low stone walls, rolling green hills, small clusters of houses that looked like they’d been there forever.

Leila cracked open her window just an inch and inhaled. “It smells so clean,” she murmured. “Different from Berlin. Softer.”

I knew exactly what she meant. Berlin had an edge, a kind of metallic tension that never entirely faded. Here, even the air felt like it had been washed in cold rain.

We reached Galway in under an hour. The moment we crossed into the city and the roads narrowed, the world shifted from countryside to charm—rows of colorful shopfronts, murals splashed across old walls, narrow streets full of movement but not noise. Not chaos. Just ... life.