A Seven-Seat Suv Couldn’t Fit Five People. So I Stopped Being Their Tool Chapter 08

A Seven-Seat Suv Couldn’t Fit Five People. So I Stopped Being Their Tool Chapter 08

“Have a good trip.”

Hung up.

Turned off the phone.

The museum hallway went quiet again.

I walked on alone.

Lighter than I’d felt in years.

That afternoon, I finished the whole museum.

Three floors. Six galleries. I stood in front of each painting a long time.

Before, on trips with them, I never stopped anywhere for more than ten minutes.

Mila would get bored. Dorian would rush. Dante would check his watch.

Julian didn’t rush.

But he’d wait by the door. Made me feel like I was wasting everyone’s time.

Today. No one waiting. No one rushing.

I stood in front of a sunset painting for twenty minutes.

Until a guard came over, asked if I felt unwell.

“No. Just think it’s beautiful.”

He smiled. Left me alone.

Out of the museum, the sun was leaning west.

I checked tomorrow’s route on my phone. Booked an inn.

Single room. Window. Sunrise view.

At check-in, the owner asked how many.

“One.”

“Traveling alone?”

“Mm.”

She looked at me a moment longer. Didn’t push. Poured me a coffee.

“There’s a food festival tonight. Lively.”

That night, I went.

No influencer filters. No styled plates. No photo walls.

Just an old street. Full of local stalls.

I bought apple pie and cornbread.

Nearby, a group of college girls. Six of them squeezed together for a selfie.

One stepped back with her phone. A friend yanked her back.

“Don’t back up. Fall in the river, no one’s saving you.”

“Squeeze in more. My face is blocked.”

“Come over here, I’ll move.”

They laughed and shifted.

In the end, everyone fit in the frame.

No one said, “You take the photo.”

No one got left outside the lens.

I finished the apple pie. Smiled at the vendor. Said goodbye.

“Good?” he asked.

“Good.”

My eyes stung.

Before, they never asked what I liked.

Back at the inn, I turned on my phone.

Didn’t look at the group messages.

Opened a new memo. Wrote down tomorrow’s spots.

No considering who’d be bored.

Who was scared of heights. Who hated sun. Who wanted photos.

Done. Lights off.

Outside the window, the sound of a river.

Distant. Soft. Constant.

First time a big room alone didn’t feel empty. It felt exactly right.

Day four of solo travel. I started getting used to something.

Not waiting for anyone.

Wake up, leave whenever. No waiting for Mila’s hair.

Dorian’s power bank. Dante confirming with everyone before telling me.

That morning, I went deep into the alleys. A quiet spot.

At the end of a lane, a handmade bookshop.

The owner, a woman in silver-rimmed glasses, maybe forty. Stitching a spine behind the counter.

I flipped through the notebooks. Picked an indigo one.

“For yourself or a gift?”

“Myself.”

“Traveling alone?”

“Mm.”

She smiled. Took a wooden pencil from a drawer. Placed it on the notebook.

“A gift.”

“Thank you.”

“Girls who travel alone have their own minds.”

I held the pencil.

That sentence felt better than every “you’re so sensible” I’d heard in four

Obedient was a cage.

years.

Having a mind was wings.

Out of the shop, my phone rang.

Not Dante.

Julian.

He rarely called me.

“Hello.”

“Elara. Can you talk?”

“Go ahead.”

He paused. Like he was arranging words.

“Mila’s in the hospital.”

“The allergy?”

“Yeah. Got worse last night.”

“Her mouth swelled up. Dante took her to the ER this morning.”

I said nothing.

Julian continued.

“Dorian caused a scene at the hospital. Said if you were here, this wouldn’t have happened.”

“Dante didn’t respond. He’s been on the phone in the hallway the whole time.”

“Seems like he’s contacting someone.”

“Did he call me?”

“No.”

“He made a lot of calls. But none of them seemed to be for you.”

I found that ironic.

Mila hospitalized. Dorian blaming me. Dante solving problems.

Same reactions as the past four years.

Only this time, I wasn’t there to help.

Julian spoke again.

“Elara. There’s something I never told you.”