She walked through the empty streets. A stray cat watched her from a car roof. A bar still played music behind thick shutters — something deep, bass-heavy, nothing like her own drifting soundtrack. She almost went in. One last drink with strangers. But the ferry was waiting. At 4 a.m., a man appeared on the quay. Old fisherman, yellow raincoat even though the sky was clear. He didn't ask why she was there. Just sat down ten feet away, lit a cigarette, and stared at the horizon.
The wind picked up. She pulled out her earphones and played the track again — On s'en ira . The chill mix. The one where the beat doesn't push; it carries. Like water. Like memory without panic. Goulam ft Dj Pakx - On S- en Ira -chill mix 202...
Around her, the city slept. The kind of sleep that felt like relief. Or abandonment. She hadn’t decided which yet. She walked through the empty streets
The song looped again in her head: On s'en ira. On s'en ira. She almost went in
Lena stood up. Her legs had gone numb, but it felt like someone else's body. She rolled her suitcase to the loading ramp, showed her ticket to a sleepy crew member who didn't check her name.
As the boat pulled from the dock, the lights on shore began to shrink — first into smudges, then into pinpricks, then into a memory she could fold and put in her pocket.