Back Through the Rain

The moment I return to London after sixteen years away, sitting silently in the back of a taxi while the city drifts past in rain-streaked light. I watch the streets through the glass and feel it all coming back to me: the cold, the memory, the pulse of a place that once swallowed me whole and never truly let me go.

I did not come back for comfort. I came back because London still holds the unfinished parts of my story, and somewhere between King’s Cross and Bloomsbury, I can already feel the city reaching for me again.

A quiet return filled with old ghosts, buried hunger, and the uneasy knowledge that I am not driving toward safety, but deeper into the ashes of everything I left behind.