The Weight of Goodbye

The morning after Jyoti finally picked up the scattered paper cranes, something inside her felt… different. Not lighter, not yet. But steadier. As if she had found a thread of herself again—one that wasn't tangled with Daniel's absence or her mother's death.

She got out of bed and opened her window, letting the warm Lagos air fill her lungs. The world hadn't stopped. Life was still moving. And if it could, so could she.

But moving on didn't mean forgetting.

She picked up her journal and, for the first time in weeks, started to write.

> Dear Daniel,

I saw your wedding picture yesterday. You looked happy. I used to think love meant staying, that it meant choosing someone over and over again. But I see now that love can also mean letting go.

I wanted you to be my future. But now I have to build one without you.

So, this is me saying goodbye.

She closed the book and exhaled.

And then she did something she had never done before—she smiled.

Picking Up the Pieces

Over the next few days, Jyoti threw herself into work at the clinic. The building was slowly coming together, donations trickling in, and a few doctors had already signed on to help once it was ready.

Dr. Emeka, who had once worked with her mother, had become her mentor in ways she hadn't expected.

"You remind me of Veronica," he said one evening as they stood outside the construction site.

Jyoti looked at him, startled. "How?"

He chuckled. "The way you don't take no for an answer."

She grinned, but the words sat in her chest like an ache. She had spent so long trying to live for her mother, to honor her. But now, she realized she had to build something for herself, too.

She stared at the half-finished clinic, the sun casting golden light over the bricks and scaffolding.

Her mother's dream had become hers.

And it was finally coming to life.

A Ghost from the Past

One afternoon, as Jyoti was reviewing paperwork in a café, her phone rang.

She nearly dropped it when she saw the name on the screen.

Daniel.

Her stomach twisted. She had spent weeks convincing herself she was done with him. But here he was, intruding on her peace once more.

She could ignore it. Pretend she never saw it.

But something inside her demanded closure.

Hands trembling, she pressed answer.

"Jyoti." His voice was hesitant, unsure.

She swallowed. "What do you want?"

A long pause. "I wanted to explain."

A bitter laugh escaped her lips. "Explain what, Daniel? That you disappeared? That you got married without telling me? That you threw away everything we had?"

"I didn't mean to hurt you."

She clenched her jaw. "But you did."

Silence.

She could hear him breathing, as if he was searching for the right words. But she was done waiting for them.

"I spent so long grieving my mother, Daniel. And when you left, it felt like I had to grieve you too."

"I—"

"No." Her voice was steady now. Strong. "You don't get to come back and reopen wounds I've been trying to close."

Another long pause. Then, quietly, "I did love you, Jyoti."

She closed her eyes. "Then you should have stayed."

And with that, she ended the call.

Letting Go

That evening, Jyoti walked to the bridge where she and Daniel used to sit and talk about their dreams.

She had spent too many nights here waiting for a love that was never meant to last.

She reached into her bag and pulled out one of her mother's paper cranes. She held it up to the fading sunlight, tracing the delicate folds with her fingers.

Then, with a deep breath, she let it go.

The wind caught it, carrying it away over the water.

And as she watched it disappear, she whispered, "Goodbye."

Not just to Daniel.

But to the part of herself that had been waiting for someone else to give her happiness.

She was done waiting.

Now, it was time to live.