Werewolf (Ava)

The muffled hum of the plane engines fills the cabin as I settle into my window seat. The view outside is blurred by a light drizzle streaking across the glass, the grey sky casting a somber mood over the day. I lean back, adjusting the knot of my tie—a subconscious habit I haven't shaken since starting law school—and exhale deeply.

Tokyo. It feels surreal to be heading there after all these years. Not because of the case, though it's harrowing in its own right—a mid-aged couple grieving their daughter, a young life snuffed out by someone she trusted. The grimness of it all presses on my chest, but it's something else entirely that unsettles me.

Ava.

Or Surin, as I came to know her name after she left. Five years. Five long, torturous years since she walked out of my life. Not a day has passed when I haven't thought of her—her laughter, her stubbornness, the way she'd blush when I teased her. And that final look in her eyes before she left, a mixture of heartbreak and resolve that still haunts me.

I close my eyes, tilting my head against the cool windowpane. My mother's voice echoes in my mind, cold and calculating. "She was a distraction, Liam. You have a future, a legacy. You'll thank me one day."

But I haven't thanked her. I've resented her. Even now, the bitterness simmers just below the surface, a constant reminder of everything I lost. My mother believes her schemes worked, that I've moved on. She couldn't be more wrong.

This trip… it's an excuse, really. A way to escape her suffocating presence, her incessant meddling in my life. The case provides the perfect cover, a legitimate reason to fly halfway across the world. But deep down, I know why I agreed to take it.

I hope to see her.

The thought is absurd, I realize. Tokyo is massive, a labyrinth of streets and alleys teeming with millions of people. The chances of running into her are slim to none. And yet, the mere possibility is enough to stir something in me—a fragile, flickering hope I can't extinguish.

The flight attendant's voice interrupts my thoughts, announcing the plane's imminent departure. I straighten in my seat, fastening my seatbelt. I glance at the empty seat beside me, grateful for the solitude. I need time to gather my thoughts, to steel myself for what lies ahead.

As the plane begins its ascent, I gaze out the window, watching the city below shrink into a patchwork of lights and shadows. Somewhere out there, Ava is living her life, maybe even thriving. I don't know what I'll do if I see her. Apologize? Beg for forgiveness? Pretend I haven't spent the last five years wishing I could turn back time?

I don't have the answers. All I know is that I'm not the same person she left behind. I've grown, changed, endured. But one thing remains constant: my feelings for her.

As the plane levels out, I lean back and close my eyes, the faint hum of the engines lulling me into a restless sleep. Tokyo awaits, with its tangled streets and buried memories. And maybe, just maybe, so does she.