The improvised kitchenette was nothing more than a cabinet shell with a small curtain instead of a door. A single-burner portable gas stove left barely any space for food preparation. An old, small fridge beside it. No sink. There was a small pot in the cabinet, just enough to fit one portion of instant noodles. The burner flickered when she turned it on. She poured water from a large jar and stared at it.

A few days ago, she was staring at the nice ceramic pot on a glass cooktop at their sleek kitchen. She was not crying because of the chopped onions. When a tear dropped on the hot surface and made a hissing sound, she watched it disappear instantly. She felt she was disappearing, too, fading away every single day.

Hundreds of kilometres away from that fancy apartment, in this shabby improvised side room that her colleague’s parents kindly gave her to use until she settled, she knew she couldn’t afford to sink anymore.

“My family isn’t rich, and the room is nothing like a hotel. But it’s clean and safe. Save the money. Step by step, you’ll put everything together. My parents miss me, so they will probably treat you as my substitute there.”
“I don’t know how to thank you.”
“You don’t need to thank me. Just start living again. And you’ll make my parents happy to have someone around. That’s the best payoff.”

The director at the school was more than understanding about her sudden resignation. She knew they all knew, no matter how hard she tried to hide it. It was the beginning of the term, and the director assured her everything would be covered.A thoughtful recommendation letter helped her secure a job interview in the town she was moving to.

She left work early and went to the bank to withdraw what little money she had. All her salary went into their joint account, and she was determined not to touch it.

On the bus, she deleted all her social media accounts. She cancelled the cards and the phone number. Watching the city she had called home grow smaller with each passing suburb, she fell asleep with no dreams. She woke up at the final stop.

At the convenience store by the bus station she bought a few basic things for a couple of days: instant noodles, instant coffee, mint tea, all-in-one shampoo, soap, a dish sponge, some bananas and tangerines, a box of tissues.

The small coastal town was easy to walk, and her friend’s home was not far away. The evening air was cool, but dragging the suitcase with almost broken wheels, a bag with groceries, and the heavy backpack kept her warm.

Her friend’s mother came to open the gate. They had never met in person, only through photos and a few exchanged sentences during video calls. She barely said anything. Her warm hug asked for no additional explanation. She knew her friend had told them the whole story, and she was grateful she didn’t need to say anything more.

They offered her dinner, but she refused. She lied that she had already eaten. She was embarrassed to be keeping them awake so late.

The space had probably once been a shed, now remodelled into a room. A tiny bathroom cobbled together of some leftover materials and mismatched tiles looked odd, but it was functional.

A bed tucked into the corner left just enough space for an old low table with a scratched surface that probably saw many stories. A clothes rack was beside the window without a curtain. The faint light from the street lamp cut through the perfect darkness of the night.

She moved the backpack to the corner. It was heavy, although she packed only a small number of her favourite books. She felt sorry for leaving the rest behind. No one would love them again. She knew she could always buy new copies. That was some consolation. None were rare editions, after all.

The only other item she grabbed was her big Pikachu mug where she kept her pencils and markers. The cheeky bright face kept her company in her darkest hours. It saw many tears dripping on students’ homework papers.

Now it was placed in the centre of the low table, like the only sun in the room.

The noodles were ready. She poured them into a bowl and sat on the bare floor. Steam curled up as she stirred them slowly, looking around the tiny space that was now her new home. Then her gaze settled on her wrist. The bruise was now deep purple, and it hurt with every move. After years, she could tell all the colour phases that would follow, and how many days each size of bruise needed to heal on different parts of the body. She knew them well enough to tell time by them.

The worn suitcase on the floor was wide open. She left with only a few possessions: the clothes from the first row of the wardrobe, a couple of pairs of shoes, and a few cosmetics she’d hastily swept from the bathroom shelf.

Among the mostly dull-coloured clothes lay a pale green dress scattered with small white cherry blossoms. She remembered the day she bought it. It was their anniversary, and she wanted to look pretty. She’d been so happy, looking at herself in the fitting-room mirror.

But the evening didn’t turn out to be pretty. The long dress was not revealing, nor sexy by any means, but apparently it made her look like a whore in the eyes of her husband. She mended the tear, and stored the dress deep inside the wardrobe.

She stared at the suitcase. She didn’t know how much time passed. The noodles looked exhausted.

From the shopping bag, still on the floor, a splash of green was peeking. Scallions. Why she bought them, she didn’t know. In her hurry, she hadn’t been thinking quite straight. Why else would she buy scallions and a pearl white nail polish?

She rinsed them in the water basin. There was just enough countertop space for a small plate to chop them on. The sharp, grassy smell filled the room.

In the bowl, they looked like emeralds sprinkled over the noodles. They didn’t look dull anymore. Every curve looked like a little smile.

The first slurp filled her with warmth. The best meal she had in a while.

She smiled imagining herself on the beach of this new town, soaking in the summer sun, in her lovely green dress with cherry blossoms swaying in the light breeze.

Pikachu was smiling too.