Chapter 1- One-Way Ticket

The house was quieter than usual, but not in a comforting way.

Sky stood in his room with a half-packed suitcase resting on the bed, its zipper hanging open like it was waiting for permission he wasn’t sure he wanted to give. The air smelled like detergent and something faintly familiar—home, but not warmth.

From downstairs, he could hear his mother’s voice. Calm. Controlled. The kind of voice that spoke at people, not to them. His father hadn’t said much all morning. That wasn’t new.

Sky adjusted the strap of his backpack and glanced at the mirror.

Same face. Same eyes.

Just… leaving.

A soft knock came at the door.

His elder sister entered first, holding a small paper bag. Behind her was his elder brother, leaning casually against the frame like he was trying not to show too much emotion.

“You’ll forget your snacks,” his sister said, forcing a smile that didn’t fully hold.

“I won’t,” Sky replied quietly.

His brother stepped forward and ruffled his hair slightly. “Don’t act like you’re going forever.”

Sky didn’t answer that.

Because it felt like he was.

For a moment, his mind drifted—not to the airport, not to the flight—but backwards.

Thailand.

Hot afternoons. School uniforms slightly too tight. Laughing with no reason. Walking home alone even when he didn’t have to. Sitting at the dinner table with four seats filled, but only two voices that ever asked how his day went.

His parents were never cruel.

Just… absent in a way that didn’t always have a name.

But his siblings—his sister who always noticed when he stopped talking, his brother who covered for him when he was late—those were the only parts of home that felt like home.

The airport announcement echoed faintly in his memory, even though he wasn’t there yet.

Or maybe he already was.

“Sky,” his sister said softly, pulling him back.

He blinked.

Time had moved without asking him.

“Let’s go,” his brother added.

Sky picked up his suitcase.

It felt heavier than it should.

And lighter at the same time.

Sky followed his siblings out of the house without looking back too long.

If he looked back properly, he knew he might not move.

The corridor felt longer than usual. Every step sounded louder, like the house itself was trying to remember him. His sister walked slightly ahead, glancing back every few seconds like she was checking if he was still real. His brother stayed close behind him, hands in his pockets, pretending this was just another normal day.

Outside, the car was already waiting.

The ride to the airport was mostly quiet.

Not the peaceful kind of quiet—the kind where words exist but no one knows which one to choose first.

Sky watched buildings pass through the window. Shops, traffic, people living normal lives like no one was about to leave everything behind.

His phone buzzed once.

No name.

Just a message from a class group: “Safe flight.”

He didn’t open it.

Instead, his mind slipped again.

Thailand memories didn’t come in order. They came in pieces.

A classroom window with sunlight too sharp to look at directly.

A teacher calling his name and him answering too slowly.

Lunch breaks where he sat more than he spoke.

His mother asking about grades without asking about him.

His father’s voice only existing when something was wrong.

And still… there were good fragments.

His sister dragging him out to eat when he didn’t feel like it.

His brother teaching him how to ride a bike properly when he was already “too old” to be helped.

Those rare moments where the house didn’t feel empty, just… incomplete.

The airport came into view too soon.

Too big. Too bright. Too final.

Inside, everything moved fast.

People were hugging, dragging suitcases, crying, laughing, living endings and beginnings all at once.

Sky slowed down without meaning to.

“This way,” his brother said, gently tapping his shoulder.

They reached the check-in area.

The woman behind the counter asked questions Sky barely heard. He answered automatically. Passport. Ticket. Confirmation.

Everything felt like it belonged to someone else.

When it was done, he got his boarding pass back.

A thin piece of paper.

Strangely powerful.

His sister hugged him first.

Tight. Too tight.

“Don’t disappear,” she whispered.

Sky didn’t know how to promise that.

So he just nodded.

His brother hugged him next—shorter, but firm.

“Call me when you land,” he said. “Even if it’s late. I’ll pick up.”

Sky nodded again.

Then came the moment he knew was coming but still wasn’t ready for.

His parents stood slightly apart.

His mother adjusted his collar once. “Take care of yourself.”

His father looked at him for a few seconds longer than usual.

Then simply said, “Don’t cause trouble.”

It wasn’t warm.

But it wasn’t nothing.

And for them, that counted as something.

Sky dipped his head slightly.

“Okay.”

Security check came faster than expected.

Too fast.

His bag went through the scanner.

Shoes off. Belt off. Reality becoming more divided by barriers.

When he stepped through, he turned back one last time.

His siblings were still there.

His sister was waving slightly, trying to smile through it.

His brother lifted his hand in a small gesture—like a silent promise that distance didn’t mean disappearance.

His parents were behind them.

Still.

Watching.

Not moving.

Sky raised his hand once.

Then turned away before it became too hard.

The corridor to the gate stretched forward like a straight line with no choice to turn back.

Each step felt quieter than the last.

And somewhere between the announcements and rolling suitcases and strangers passing him without knowing his name—

Sky finally understood something he hadn’t said out loud yet.

This wasn’t just leaving home.

It was becoming someone who had already left it behind.

And Thailand… the life he knew there…

was now something he could only carry inside him.

Not return to.

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