A Homecoming

Mia flicked her wrist at the lobby doors. “Well, this is me.”

“Okay.” The boy nodded at his shoes. The two stood in that deliciously awkward silence at the end of every good first date. Mia twirled the ends of her hair. The boy didn’t notice. 

“Thank you for tonight,” he said. “I had a great time.”

“Me too. Text me when you make it home.”

The boy’s eyes flicked down the street. Who was watching? It was late, but in this city, there’s always someone awake. A blistered bus rolled by. The boy attempted nonchalance with a quick hug, but his watch got caught in Mia’s hair. She giggled. He blushed before turning on his heels and walking away.

Mia noticed a thick silence as she stepped into her living room. Sounds from the outside slowly started seeping back in through the windows. A car horn. A shout. Metal against metal from the construction site across the street. The floodlights found their way into the room, sterile and white, bleeding shadows. 

It was a 21st-century apartment made of glass and sharp lines. Unlived in. The furniture that came with the place was designed to be impressive, not comfortable. Big windows framed the Abu Dhabi skyline. It was the nicest apartment Mia and her three roommates could afford. The construction sites surrounding their building helped with the cost of rent. But for all its faults, the place still stood as proof that they were, in fact, up-and-coming young professionals.

Mia’s mind spun, warding off sleep. She poured herself some water and moved to the dusty plastic chair on the little balcony. Mia loved the look of the skyline across the water, the whole city sitting on top of itself. It looked as though the stars had all fallen from the sky and settled on the horizon. One big gust of wind and they’d twirl like sand, floating back up to where they belonged.

A thought soon landed in her head, unannounced. A thought that caught her by surprise, one that hardly felt allowed in a city like this. I think I might be truly happy. The thought lingered above her until a voice cracked the silence.

“Why do you care?”

Mia flinched at the voice. She turned around to see the living room, dark and empty. The city lights were painted translucent on the glass door behind her, disrupted by the black crater of her silhouette. She waited a moment before turning back toward the lights and saying, “Excuse me?”

“Why does it matter?” the voice responded.

Mia blinked at the skyline. The lights across the water blinked back.

“I mean,” Mia thought for a moment. “Of course I care.” 

The twinkling lights scoffed.

Mia raised her eyebrows. “I didn’t expect that coming from you.” 

“Huh,” Abu Dhabi retorted. “What did you expect from me then?”

“Isn’t that what all the wise people say? To pursue happiness? I just expected more wisdom from someone so much older than me.”

“I’m not that much older than you,” the city said. “And besides, just trying to be happy all the time is the most childish thing I’ve ever heard.”

“I’m not just trying to be happy. I’m trying to do other things, too.”

“What other things?” 

Mia shrugged. She ran her hands along the arms of her chair and pinched the dust between her fingers. She liked to think that it was desert dust kissed by the sun. But it was grey as cement and smelled like blood and she knew it was kissed by no one.

“I just meant I’m happy tonight.” Mia watched a line of ants march along the tile grout. Not a single one out of step. “I met a nice, good-looking guy, and that’s hard to find here.”

“Hard to find? This city’s full of men,”  the lights teased. “Maybe you just haven’t been looking.”

“A certain kind of man,” Mia mumbled.

“Brown men? Poor men? What do you mean?” The line of lights squinted at her. 

Mia looked into the dark in shock. “It’s not about that!” 

“What’s it about then?”

“I guess I want a guy who lives like I do, who wants the same things I do.”

“Hmm.” The water played with its lights.

“I just haven’t found a lot of people like me here,” Mia finally said. “Like a community.”

“We’ve got all kinds of people. We’re at the center of the world right here. Africans, Asians. And Europeans, people like you.” 

“That’s not what I meant. I don’t know. I just don’t think people come here to be happy. At least not today. People come here to work so they can be happy later, somewhere else, with other people.”

The city was silent.

Mia’s eyes fell to the floor. “No offense.”

“Maybe you’re only finding what you look for—”

“And I just think that whole idea is a lie.”

“What do you mean?” the city asked.

“I’m just saying, how many people actually make it here? How many people stay sad here for no reason at all?” Mia scanned the yellow pricks of light, waiting for a response.

It didn’t come.

“So,” Mia continued, “I can’t promise myself I’ll be happy later. Is it really so childish to try to be at least a little happy today?”

The lights shone as steady yellow dots on the edge of the water. A streaky world in the black ocean below.

Mia brought her glass of water to her lips. Its condensation trickled down her fingers to her wrist, making mud of the dust there.

“I’m not... I think you’re missing my point,” the city said. “Are you making your money just for you?” The question hardly made it to Mia’s ears.

Mia sat a little taller. “My parents aren’t giving me any if that’s what you mean. I’m independent.”

“Is there anyone else waiting for your paychecks when they come in?

“Feed the Children,’ Mia announced into the night. “I donate five dollars a month.” 

“Hmm.”

Mia deflated under the light’s gaze. “My family doesn’t need my money,” she said.

“Mashallah. Lucky you.”

Mia nodded. More silence. She watched a mechanical crane spin slowly in front of her. In truth, she didn’t really see the crane. Its metal melted against the night. She only watched the even line of bright safety lights along its arm scrape, detached across the sky. 

“I’m just saying,” the lights finally said. “You’re lucky you can seek a little happiness just for you.”

Mia nodded.

“Are you looking for other people like that?”

Mia had no response. 

Abu Dhabi sighed. “No matter their situation here, people come to me because I’m better to them than wherever they were before.” 

“What kind of a standard is that?”

“Please.” The lights glistened.

Mia nodded. “So what’s next then?”

“Hmm?” 

“For you. This place. Will people come and go forever?”

“Who can know for sure?” the city asked. “Do you know what’s next for you?”

Mia thought for a moment. “No, I guess not. I’ll figure it out wherever I go.” 

“Well, people are good at that.”

Mia’s phone buzzed. She unlocked it and read,

I’m home now. Thank you. 

Cassandra Mitchell is a Canadian writer who grew up as a third culture kid throughout Asia and South America. She currently lives in the UAE and studies Political Science and Creative Writing at NYU Abu Dhabi. In addition to writing for The Gazelle, she explores her creativity through poetry and short fiction. Find Cassandra on Instagram: @cassinthesky

Artwork by Tala Asiri