Rosa nd jim hopper

Rosa's return

Rosa's pov
After a long flight from Australia, where I had settled down these past five years, I finally walked out of the airport, my eyes scanning the crowd for that familiar face and comforting smile. My heart was pounding with a mix of exhaustion and excitement. The bustling airport, with its cacophony of sounds and constant movement, felt overwhelming, yet my anticipation pushed me forward.

"Here! Rosa, here!" I heard my grandmother's voice, filled with joy and urgency. I followed the sound, my gaze zeroing in on her as she waved her arms above her head, trying to stand out among the sea of people. Despite the years that had passed, she looked just as I remembered, her face a blend of warmth and resilience.

I quickened my pace, my suitcase rolling behind me as I weaved through the crowd. There she was, standing by her car—the same one she had driven for as long as I could remember. The sight of it brought back a flood of memories: weekend trips, summer vacations, and the countless times she had picked me up from school.

"Hey, Grandma," I said, my voice catching with emotion as I wrapped my arms around her tightly. She held me close, and I could feel her sigh of relief, her body relaxing in my embrace.

This is it, this is home. The sense of belonging was almost overwhelming. I had loved my time in Australia, the adventures, the new friends, and the independence. But standing there in my grandmother's arms, I realized how much I had missed this feeling of unconditional love and familiarity.

We stood there for a moment, just holding each other, the noise of the airport fading into the background. I could smell her perfume, a light floral scent that was so distinctly her. I felt tears prickling at the corners of my eyes, not out of sadness, but from the sheer comfort of being back where I belonged.

"Let's get you home," she said softly, pulling back to look at me. Her eyes were shining with unshed tears, and she gave me a smile that was both happy and reassuring.

As we loaded my luggage into the car, I felt a sense of peace settle over me. The drive back was filled with easy conversation, catching up on the little things that we had missed in our weekly phone calls. The familiar scenery of my hometown passed by, each landmark stirring up a new wave of nostalgia.

When we finally pulled into the driveway of her house, I felt a lump form in my throat. The house looked the same, yet different. The garden was still meticulously cared for, flowers blooming in a riot of colours, just as I remembered. But there were small changes, new plants, and a fresh coat of paint on the shutters.