Member-only story
The Exchange
I found myself on a particular road, seated quietly in the car. It was that hour of the day when the world seems to exhale. No rush, no urgency. Heavy-duty trucks moved steadily in their lanes, schools were in session, workers already tucked into their offices. No animals straying across to interrupt traffic, no impatient horns, just vehicles moving at a calm, respectful pace.
From my window, the sun pressed warmly against my face and neck. Not harsh nor burning, just present. The AC hummed softly, cooling without stealing the warmth entirely. It was balanced and my heart was at peace.
Later that evening, I called my father after work. His face filled the screen, but I could see enough. Light flickered behind him, golden rays slipping through leaves. I knew where he was — under the mango tree. And beyond him, if I angled my eyes just right, I caught a glimpse of the mountains. Even through a screen, I could immediately feel that warmness again and smell the air. Humid, earthy and faintly tropical. That soft, living scent of home. I felt an ache. I looked around me, at my colder, dimmer surroundings and felt the quiet pang of distance.
A few days earlier, I had experienced another kind of ache, one that took me somewhere I hadn’t expected to revisit. I heard someone mention a road trip. And I felt uneasy upon hearing the route that was going to be used. It was subtle at…
