You stand in the crowded subway car, clutching your worn photo of the estate where you grew up.
The morning rush makes every step uncomfortable, and the noise of music from someone’s headphones adds to the chaos.
You try not to forget that six months ago, you floated in space, detached from these everyday habits.
The smell of coffee and the chatter around you remind you of local life, things you once took for granted but now feel like a foreign world.
Your mind flips through a mental list of items you need to buy after work.
You want to shop for gifts, but the price tags make you hesitate.
Borrowing money from friends feels strange when you’re used to relying on yourself in space.
The line at the shop near your apartment will be long today, just like this subway car.
You wonder if your escape from duty—this mission to return to Earth—was worth it, or if the real journey is learning to live with both desire and responsibility.
As the train slows near your stop, you realize the small joys around you: the smile of a child, the familiar sound of a vendor’s call.
These details, once so ordinary, now comfort you.
Tomorrow, you will return to the estate that feels both like a dream and a home.
You breathe deeply, feeling more comfortable in this crowded space than you expected.
Duty and desire don’t have to fight; maybe they can live side by side, like the many days ahead waiting quietly in that estate.
