The air felt cold, even through the heavy jacket she wore. The only sounds filling the space around her were the thunderous roar of airplanes taking off and the loud chattering of women and children echoing through the terminal.
She pulled her coat tighter around herself and began walking toward the exit, her luggage dragging behind like a loyal shadow.
The stares were impossible to ignore. Of course she looked odd—wrapped in a bulky black jacket, a red hat crammed on her head, and fluffy slippers slapping against the floor in a place where the sun seemed too stubborn to ever go down. But she was used to the gawks, the glances, the unsubtle gasps. Honestly, she'd hoped for peace, to be invisible just this once—but that wasn't on today's menu.
Gosh she felt out of place
She'd thought moving to France would hand her a clean slate. A city where no one knew her name, her past, her heartbreak. A place too preoccupied with silly nicknames and trends to notice her flaws. But no. The outsider feeling didn't stay behind. It hitched a ride with her, sat next to her on the flight, and followed her right out of the airport.
Back in high school, she hadn't been popular—far from it. She'd been the cliché nerd: round glasses, a button nose, and what might as well have been a glowing sign taped to her forehead screaming, "Bully me!" And everyone did. Without fail.
Head dunked in toilets? Check.
Books hurled off rooftops? Check.
Lunch money stolen? Check.
Fights in the hallway? Check.
She lost every time. Of course she did. No one looked at the short, frail girl and assumed she could throw a punch. Not even her.
So the moment she graduated, she bolted. Ran to a country that was so wrapped in its own problems it barely noticed the outside world. France had become her escape plan—flawed, maybe, but it was something. The last thing she needed was one of her old tormentors finding her at some local university and kicking the past back into motion.
As she reached the airport exit, the chaos only grew louder. Husbands embracing crying wives. Children giggling in waves. Taxi drivers shouting over one another for fares. It was like stepping into a storm.
She pulled out her phone and dialed Mandy—a friend she met online years ago, the same friend who orchestrated this entire move. Mandy had helped her find an affordable place to stay, a university to apply to, and even offered to pick her up from the airport.
After two rings, Mandy answered, sharp and excited as ever.
"You here yet?"
"Yeah," Elara replied, a chuckle in her voice. "Just waiting on you now."
"Oh, shoot! I'm on my way!" Mandy's voice came rushed, like she was tripping over her own urgency.
"Thanks, Bee," she said before ending the call.
Sliding her phone back into her pocket, she exhaled a deep sigh and dropped onto a nearby bench.
"Bee" had been her nickname for Mandy ever since she saw her profile picture—yellow-and-black top, like a walking warning sign. In return, Mandy called her "Syd," swearing she looked like Sid from Ice Age.
When she'd confessed all the bullying to Mandy, it was Bee who came up with the plan: move to France. Start fresh. Begin again.
Her thoughts were cut short by a blaring honk. She looked up to see Bee waving from the driver's seat of her car.
Grabbing her luggage, she started forward. But before she could make it more than a few steps, a stranger collided with her, knocking her backward.
"Do people in France not know how to watch where they're going?" she grumbled, rubbing her arm where it throbbed from the impact.
"It's always the immigrants," the man muttered in a thick French accent as he kept walking without so much as a glance back.
Before she could get a good look at his face, he'd vanished into the crowd.
Bee rushed over, concern painted all over her face as she helped her friend to her feet.
"Are French people always this rude?" Elara huffed.
"Just the rich ones," Bee replied with a small laugh, patting her back like she already knew this was just the beginning.
"Let's get you settled in," Bee said as she helped her up, leading her to the car.
She helped her pack her luggage in the back seat of her car before helping her into the front seat of her Mazda MX-5 Miata, which she had bought with her college fund.
"What about college then?" Elara asked as she buckled her seatbelt, watching as the car roared to life after Mandy turned the keys.
"My parents own a shop, as well as a building. I'm basically set for life," Mandy responded pridefully.
Mandy hit the gas, and the car sped off. The air felt refreshing, and for once, it felt like she wasn't constantly being judged. Most people would love the attention, but it only felt like a heavy burden to her—because people DID look and stare. At home, because she was weird. In France, because she was an outsider. It felt like she couldn't fit in anywhere.
Alès is a very small city in France—tight streets and people who minded their own business. She thought she'd be safe and hidden here, barely being seen even by her varsity mates. But judging by how people looked at her at the airport, that seemed unlikely.
"So... jobs?" Mandy said as she maneuvered through the busy Alès roads.
"Don't even get me started on those," Elara sighed, holding her head in slight frustration.
"I was thinking may—"
"You can work in my family's shop!" Mandy cut her off with loud excitement.
"What?" Elara asked, confused.
This was new
She thought to herself. No one had ever tried to help her. She'd always worked on her own and tried to solve her own problems.
"Yeah, the workers get to stay at their apartment for free and still get paid," Mandy continued happily before letting out a loud gasp.
"We could be roommates!" she squealed.
"Oh, no no no no, that's o—"
"You don't even have to worry. I'm so quiet, it's like I'm never there," she said happily.
OH reall now?
She thought to herself as she blocked out Mandy's rants of their picture-perfect torture session.
She wasn't one for noise—she always preferred the silence. But France seemed to be desperately trying to break her out of her shell.
"So what do you think?" Mandy said, her voice calming into something quiet as she parked her car in front of a luxury-looking apartment.
"That would be great," Elara said quietly, not able to say no to her friend.
Her response made her too-eager friend squeal and clap her hands like a baby being given candy.
Elara quickly climbed out of the car and began unpacking her luggage. She turned to Mandy just in time to have a chain of keys thrown at her.
"We're in room 207, and your bedroom is left of mine—you'll notice it right away," Mandy said, driving off before Elara could utter another word.
Just... Great
Elara thought to herself quietly. She turned to her luggage. She had struggled getting this into the airport, and with no help, she'd most likely go through the same thing now.
She leaned toward the heaviest package, placing the keys in her pocket.
"Might as well get this out of the way now," she said and dusted her hands before trying to pick up the package.
She grunted and groaned in pain as she tried and tried to lift the package even just an inch above the ground.
"Need some help?" a thick French accent called out from behind her.