The island E-Book

Elias J. Connor

• Herausgeber: FINN Books Edition FireFly
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Beschreibung

Benjamin, in his mid-40s, has been in a relationship with his young girlfriend Jane for over four years. Although their relationship is very stable and solid, Jane is going on holiday alone with her family to the idyllic Balearic island of Menorca this summer. Benjamin is very sad that he cannot accompany her - especially because Menorca is the place where Benjamin spent many summers as a child and teenager. He would have loved to show his girlfriend all the places, beaches and secret spots. During the holiday, however, Jane realises that the time spent with the family is soon becoming too much for her and increasingly complains to Benjamin in messages and calls. Through her reports, Benjamin himself remembers his past holidays on Menorca - but he soon realises that this time was not only characterised by pleasant memories... The sensitive, emotional novel is a homage by the author Elias J. Connor to the paradisiacal Mediterranean island of Menorca, which is based on facts and can be seen as a sequel to the novel BENJAMIN.

Leseprobe

Elias J. Connor

The island

Inhaltsverzeichnis

Dedication

Chapter 1 - The promise

Chapter 2 - Messages

Chapter 3 - The first day

Chapter 4 - The island of dreams

Chapter 5 - Things are getting better

Chapter 6 - The house

Chapter 7 - Natalie

Chapter 8 - The trip to Mahón

Chapter 9 - The neighbors

Chapter 10 - New work

Chapter 11 - Boy or girl

Chapter 12 - The discotheque

Chapter 13 - Distant embrace

Chapter 14 - Illusions of the past

Chapter 15 - The sea

Chapter 16 - The danger in the depths

Chapter 17 - Parallels

Chapter 18 - The beautiful sides of the island

Chapter 19 - At home

About the author Elias J. Connor

Impressum

Dedication

For Jana.

My friend, my partner, my angel.

I am very happy to have you by my side and am very glad that you came into my life.

Elias

Chapter 1 - The promise

The tram station is located on the very edge of Cologne, far from the busy center. Here, in a quiet, almost forgotten district, time seems to pass more slowly. It is a hot summer day, the sun is high in the sky and burns down on the street. The asphalt of the narrow street that borders the station shimmers in the heat, as if it were covered with a light veil.

The stop itself is simple, perhaps a little old. A narrow, covered waiting area made of frosted plexiglass protects the few travelers who sometimes wait for the tram here from rain and wind. Today, however, the roof is rarely used. The heat accumulates under the roof and makes waiting outside more pleasant. Next to the shelter is an old ticket machine. The paint is peeling off and the machine looks as if it has seen better days. It stands crooked, as if its foundation had sunk over the years, but it still works - at least most of the time.

The platform is not particularly high, just enough to comfortably board the tram. It is lined with a few flower pots that were once intended to create a friendly atmosphere. Now the plants in them are dried out, turning yellow and brown, victims of the merciless summer heat. The sand and dust blown in from the nearby fields covers the edges of the station, collects in the corners and gives the place an almost forgotten, melancholy atmosphere. In the background you can occasionally hear the buzzing of insects moving lazily in the humid air. Crickets chirp somewhere in the tall grass.

The area itself seems to be at a standstill, the houses surrounding the station in a kind of summer hibernation. Many of the shutters are closed to keep out the heat. The facades of the small houses are pale in color, some of them weathered and cracked. Ivy climbs over some of the walls as if trying to hide the age and wear of the buildings. There is not much going on here - there are no shops in the immediate vicinity, no cafes or busy streets. Just a few isolated cars parked at the side of the road, hot from the summer sun reflecting off their hoods.

A few passers-by can be seen. They move slowly, almost lazily, as if they have adapted to the rhythm of this isolated place. An elderly lady with a shopping trolley walks down the street, her step calm and deliberate. She wears a wide straw hat to protect herself from the sun and holds her hand in front of her eyes to survey the path. Passing the tram station, she turns a corner and disappears into the shadow of one of the houses.

At the bus stop, a young man sits on one of the few benches. He is wearing sunglasses and a loose-fitting T-shirt. His face is lost in thought, the headphones in his ears make it clear that he is in another world, perhaps accompanied by music that makes him forget the heat and slowness of the place. Next to him, a bicycle is leaning against the low fence that separates the tracks from the road. The paint on the frame is slightly flaking, the bike looks used but well-kept. It seems as if it is his constant companion on the long, quiet streets of this district.

A mother walks down the street with her small child. The child, perhaps four or five years old, is holding an ice cream cone that is already beginning to melt at the sides in the heat. The mother seems relaxed, her steps are leisurely, as if she has all the time in the world. She glances briefly at the electronic display hanging at the stop, showing the time remaining until the next tram. Ten more minutes and then line 7 will stop here. The display flashes briefly, as if it is not quite sure whether this information is correct.

The sounds of the neighborhood are muffled, almost as if wrapped in cotton wool. No loud honking, no screaming of children, no roar of engines. Only the distant hum of the high-voltage power lines that run along the railway tracks and the gentle rustle of the wind that blows through the dry leaves of the trees along the road. Every now and then a car drives by, but it seems to be moving in slow motion, as if it were respecting the peace and serenity of this place.

In the distance, around a bend, the quiet hum of the tram suddenly appears. Barely perceptible at first, the sound quickly becomes louder until you can clearly hear the rumble of the wheels on the tracks. The tram, light yellow and white, glides leisurely around the corner, its metallic surface reflecting the glaring sunlight. It slowly rolls into the station, the squeaking of the brakes breaking the silence of the district.

The doors open with a gentle hiss. The young man with the headphones stands up, takes a quick look at his bike and decides to take it with him on the tram. The mother and her child also get on, the child jumping excitedly on the spot while the mother carefully wipes off the melted ice. The heat doesn't really seem to bother anyone, it's just part of life in this remote place.

After the few passengers have boarded, the doors close again slowly, almost reluctantly, and the tram starts moving again. The whirring and rumbling becomes quieter as it drives out of the station and soon disappears around a bend, where it continues on its way between the fields and trees.

The silent station remains. The display at the stop jumps back to 30 minutes - the next tram will be a while away. The light wind carries the scent of dry grass and warm earth, and the crickets start singing their song again. A new shadow moves across the street - a couple with a dog strolls past the station, the dog sniffs curiously at one of the dusty flower pots.

It's as if this tram station exists in a distant place, away from the hustle and bustle of the big city. Here, where time flows more slowly and the summer sun bathes everything in a golden light, there seems to be no rush. Sometimes you could almost believe that the people waiting here are just dreams, caught in an endless summer day.

It's a hot summer afternoon. The sun is beating down on the cobblestones in front of the tram station and I'm sitting here on this hard bench. The wind is so light that it's barely noticeable as I let my gaze wander over the empty tracks. It's quiet in this neighborhood, far too quiet, almost as if I were the only person around. Waiting feels different today. Harder.

I look at the clock. She should be here any minute. This afternoon is still ours, but then what?

My leg bounces up and down restlessly, a tic I often have in such moments. People sometimes look at me strangely, but I can't control it, so I ignore them. It feels a bit like a clock ticking in my head, reminding me that time is passing - and today it isn't passing fast enough.

Then I see her.

Jane walks down the street and I immediately feel my whole body relax. She's wearing her green summer skirt that I love so much and her brown hair is tied in a loose ponytail at the back of her neck. Her sunglasses are crooked on her nose, which makes her even cuter in my eyes.

I stand up as she approaches and I can't help the smile that creeps onto my face. She looks a little exhausted, but when she sees me her face lights up and that's enough to make my heart beat a few beats faster.

“There you are at last,” I say as she takes the last step toward me.

“I’m sorry, I had to take care of a few things,” she replies, sounding almost apologetic.

"It doesn't matter," I reply and pull her into a gentle hug. I breathe in her familiar scent as I place my lips on hers. It's only a quick kiss, but it means a lot to me.

"How was your day?" I ask as I let go of her and we stand next to the tracks. My arm is naturally around her shoulder as we wait for the train.

"It's been a long time," she says with a sigh. "But now it's finally over. No more work for three weeks. I'm glad I can finally switch off from work."

I feel my stomach clench at her words. Three weeks. Three weeks without Jane. Three weeks where she flies to Menorca with her parents while I stay here and work. It feels wrong that we'll be apart for so long, and although I try not to let it show, I know she notices.

"I wish you wouldn't fly without me," I say quietly, my eyes fixed on the tracks as I speak.

Jane gently places her hand on my chest, right above my heart. "I know, Harry. I wish you could come too. But you know what my parents are like..."

She always calls me Harrylein. That's the nickname she gave me when we got together. Jane is a huge Harry Potter fan and often compares me to Harry.

I nod, although I can't really understand her parents. After four years of being together, you'd expect me to be allowed to go on holiday with them. But Jane's parents are complicated. They have accepted that their adult daughter, 26, is with an older man in his mid-40s, and rarely voice their concerns directly. But I still feel it every time I meet them. Those looks, those quiet comments.

“I will miss you,” I finally say, as if those words could be enough to lighten the weight of the coming weeks.

"I love you too," Jane replies, giving me an encouraging smile. "But three weeks isn't that long, is it? When I get back, we'll do something nice."

I try to return the smile, but it's hard. "Sure," I say, but my mind is spinning. I'm not good at being alone. Jane and I are together so much that the idea of spending three weeks without her makes me uneasy. She's like an anchor in my world, and when she's gone, I quickly feel lost.

"I've already picked out a few books for you," she says suddenly, as if she wanted to guess my thoughts. "For when I'm away. And maybe we could talk on the phone in the evening?"

I nod gratefully. Jane knows how important routines are to me and she always tries to help me when they are broken. That's exactly what happens to her too. As autistic people, we know this problem all too well. Maybe I'll somehow manage to get through the time without her. At least I hope so.

In the distance I hear the faint squeak of the tram, and soon it appears around the corner. The doors open and we get on. There are only a few people on the tram and we easily find a seat. Jane sits by the window, I sit next to her, and lean back as the tram starts moving. It takes us towards the city center, to the shopping center at the other end of Cologne.

Jane puts her head on my shoulder and I feel her warmth calming me. It's a familiar feeling, sitting together like this. I know I'll miss this closeness in the coming weeks.

“Are you looking forward to your vacation?” I ask, even though I know the answer.

"Yes, I do," she replies, raising her head slightly to look at me. "But it would be nicer if you could come with me."

"I know," I say quietly, staring at the city passing by. "Maybe next year?"

"Maybe," she says, but her voice sounds uncertain. We both know it's because of her parents. Their excessive caution, their constant skepticism towards me. Sometimes I wonder if I can ever really convince them that I'm good for Jane.

“What do we want to do at the mall?” I ask, changing the subject.

"I wanted to buy a few things for the vacation," she replies. "And maybe we could have something to eat afterwards?"

"Sounds good." I try to stay in her presence, not to drift too far into my thoughts. I find it hard to let go of the thought of the impending separation, but I don't want to spoil this day with melancholy. It's Jane's last day at work before her vacation, and we should celebrate.

The train stops at another station and a few new passengers get on. An older man sits down near us and I can feel his eyes resting on us for a moment. It happens often that people look at us. Jane and I don't seem to fit the image they have of a typical couple. She is so much younger than me and people often notice our peculiarities, even if they don't always say it out loud.

“Do you want to do something while I’m away?” Jane suddenly asks, tearing me out of my thoughts.

I shrug my shoulders.

"Work, I think. Maybe a little reading. You know how it is."

She nods, and I sense that she wants to say something but doesn't. Instead, she takes my hand and squeezes it lightly. We sit in silence for the rest of the ride, but it's not an uncomfortable silence. It's the kind of silence that exists between us when words aren't necessary.

As the tram reaches the mall, we get off and enter the air-conditioned building. The coolness inside is a welcome relief from the oppressive heat outside, and Jane lets go of my hand to brush the hair from the back of her neck.

“Where do we want to go first?” I ask as we move through the crowd.

"Let's go to the shop over there first," says Jane, pointing to a small shop with summer clothes in the window. "I need a few light clothes for the vacation."

"Sure," I say and follow her inside. I stay a little in the background while she browses through the shelves. Shopping for clothes isn't something I particularly enjoy, but I'm happy to do it for her. It also gives me the opportunity to observe her - the way she moves, the way she examines the fabrics with concentration before deciding on something.

"What do you think of this one?" she asks suddenly, holding up a light white dress. It looks perfect for warm days at the beach, and I nod in agreement.

“It looks good on you,” I say, and she smiles.

After a while we find everything she needs and we head to the food court. Jane decides on a salad while I opt for a portion of sushi. We sit down at one of the small tables and as we eat I try to push away the thought of the impending departure.

But at some point I can't hold it back anymore.

“Three weeks is a really long time,” I suddenly say, more to myself than to her.

Jane puts down her fork and looks at me.

"I know, Harry. But we can do this, okay? We've been through so much together, and this... this is just a little break. After that, everything will be the same as before."

I nod, even though I'm not sure if she's right. But I know one thing: I'll get through these three weeks somehow. Because of her.

We leave the mall through a side entrance and the warm summer air hits us as we step outside. The contrast to the air-conditioned coolness inside is noticeable but pleasant. There is a smell of hot asphalt and somewhere in the distance a bee buzzes over the flowerbeds at the edge of the sidewalks.

"Let's sit over there," I suggest, pointing to a small, secluded bench under a tree. It's a little off to the side, almost hidden, as if it were just waiting for us. Jane nods and we head towards it. The bench is old, the paint on the wooden slats is peeling, but it's the perfect place to shut out the world for a moment.

We sit down and a deep calm immediately descends upon us. Jane snuggles up to me and I put my arm around her, holding her tight as if I were afraid she might disappear at any moment. Her head rests on my shoulder and I breathe deeply, feeling the scent of her hair and the warm touch of her skin. It's this one moment that feels like it could last forever - and I wish it did.

"I love you," I whisper suddenly, without thinking twice. The words just come out, like a river flowing through me. "And I will always love you."

Jane raises her head and looks at me, her eyes soft and full of emotion. She doesn't need a moment to think about answering. "I love you too," she says quietly. "Forever."

Her words hit me deep, so deep that I almost forget to breathe. We don't say anything else, we just sit there, tightly embraced, while time seems to stand still. It feels like we are alone in the world, and the hustle and bustle of the mall, the traffic, the people - all of that is suddenly so far away that it no longer matters.

The sun slowly moves across the sky, and eventually I notice that the day is turning into a gentle evening. The shadows are getting longer, the air is getting cooler, and the birds are beginning their soft evening song. Jane sighs softly, and I know that the moment when she must go is getting closer. But I hold her even tighter, as if I could stop time by doing so.

"It's getting late," she says finally, and her voice sounds almost a little regretful. "The bus will be leaving soon."

I just nod silently because I don't really want to say anything. Words would only disturb the silence that lies between us, this tender connection that we share right now. But at some point I have to let her go. We stand up together and Jane puts her hand in mine as we slowly stroll to the bus stop. Neither of us is in a hurry. Every step feels like a small goodbye and I try to savour every moment, every second with her before she leaves.

When we reach the bus stop, Jane stops and turns to me. For a moment we just look at each other, as if we need to memorize what the other looks like for the time we will be apart.

"I hate it when you have to leave," I finally say, trying to smile but it's hard. "It feels like a piece of me leaves with you every time."

“I feel the same way,” she answers quietly and takes a step closer.

The bus rolls around the corner and my heart clenches. Jane leans forward and kisses me gently on the lips, one last kiss before she gets on. Her hand leaves mine and I feel the chill of her absence. The bus stops, the doors open and she gets on. I watch her take a seat by the window and wave to me one last time.

“I love you,” she whispers through the window, and I see her lips forming the words.

"I love you, too," I say back, even though she may not be able to hear it. But I know she knows it.

The doors close with a soft hiss and the bus starts moving. I stop and watch it slowly turn the corner and disappear from my sight. The moment the bus is finally gone, all the feelings I've been holding back come crashing down on me. It's as if the flood breaks loose all at once.

The tears come unexpectedly, hot and fast, and I let them flow. I stand in the middle of the street while people walk around me, and I cry as if I could just flush out the pain and longing inside me. But it doesn't work. Nothing works in this moment. All that remains is the empty feeling that Jane is gone now and I have to wait until I can see her again.

The seconds stretch into minutes, the minutes into what feels like an eternity. I stand there for a while, hanging my head as the darkness of the evening slowly creeps over the city. The lanterns come on and the soft light bathes the world in a golden glow, but it doesn't reach me. Nothing is reaching me right now. I stand there quietly, my head full of thoughts and yet so empty.

I slowly turn around and walk in the opposite direction. Each step feels heavy, as if I have to force myself to keep going, even though my heart remains with Jane on the bus.

Now it is day 1 - day 1 of our physical separation. Jane is gone and I am left here - in my thoughts her look, her gentle smile with which she looked at me just a moment ago.

Chapter 2 - Messages

The flight to Menorca was smooth and uneventful, but Jane still had a nervous feeling in her stomach. Sitting in a plane again after all these years was unreal. It was as if she had released a part of herself that she had suppressed for a long time. Now she and her family are standing at Mahón airport, the small, inconspicuous building that seems like a gateway to another world. The air is mild, salty, and the sun is shining through the clear sky.

"Are you OK, Jane?" her father asks, looking over his shoulder with a slightly worried look. He tilts his head slightly and narrows his eyes as if he's expecting some sign of discomfort on her face.

"Yes, everything's fine," she replies, trying to smile. She pulls on her backpack strap to keep her hands busy. It wouldn't be the first time that her family has treated her like a child, as if she weren't able to do simple things herself. It bothers her, but she doesn't say anything. Not now that the vacation has only just begun.

Her mother and aunt are already talking about their plans for the coming days. Her uncle is looking at his cell phone, probably to see when the bus will pick them up. The typical family setup: everyone in their role, everyone in their place. Jane feels like a spectator, and that isn't all that uncomfortable at this moment.

"The bus should be here soon," says her uncle, pointing to a rolling white line on the horizon, which turns out to be the coach. "Cala en Bosch, right?"

She is glad that they will soon be on the bus and that she will no longer be subjected to the intrusive noises of the airport. People in a hurry, speaking languages she does not understand, while somewhere above them announcements blare through the loudspeakers. The excitement of arriving and departing - it is always too hectic for her.

The bus stops and the doors hiss open. The air-conditioned air that hits them is a welcome refreshment. Jane lets her family go first before she climbs on board and looks for a window seat. She wants to see the landscape, take it all in before the vacation really begins.

As soon as the bus starts moving, she leans back and lets her gaze wander out the window. The first impressions quickly fade: industrial estates, small houses that mingle with a surprisingly green hinterland. But then the city gives way and the landscape opens up before her eyes. She sees flat hills, olive trees and fields that glow a sunburnt yellow. There are old stone walls that wind through the fields like vines. The vegetation here is sparse, almost Mediterranean-dry, but somewhere in between there are always flashes of colorful splashes - wild flowers that glow in the summer sun.

"The landscape reminds me of Croatia," Jane murmurs, and her father, who is sitting next to her, looks at her questioningly. "We've been there so many times, remember? That dry heat, the olive groves... it looks similar."

"Yes, that's true," he says thoughtfully, also looking outside. "But it's different here, less rocky, more fields. More fences."

The father looks out the window carefully.

"And yet it's a bit like America," Jane adds, without being able to say exactly why. Perhaps it's the feeling of vastness that this landscape gives her. She's never been to the USA, but in the pictures she's seen of the endless prairies she finds a similar mood.

The hills roll gently, and every now and then she spots isolated fincas - large country houses made of light stone, their terracotta roofs gleaming in the sun. Some have cypress trees in the gardens that reach into the sky like green spears. Others have large farms where old wells or abandoned carts stand. She sees small flocks of sheep grazing lazily in the fields, and everywhere there seems to be a dreamy silence, as if the island is in no hurry.

Jane leans her head against the cool window and closes her eyes for a moment. The gentle movement of the bus and the warm breeze that flows through a small crack in the window put her into a deep state of relaxation. It feels almost surreal - the warmth, the gentle rocking, the familiar but strange smell of the Mediterranean air.

"So, Jane," her mother suddenly begins, and Jane's body immediately tenses. She knows what's coming. "Have you thought about what you want to do tomorrow? We could take a trip to Ciutadella or maybe go to the beach. What do you think?"

Jane opens her eyes and sits up straight. "We'll see," she says quietly. She doesn't want to commit herself, not again. Her family seems to see it as her duty to plan her every move, as if she doesn't have the ability to make her own decisions. She feels the gentle calm that had just spread through her slowly being replaced by a quiet discontent.

"We have the whole holiday," she adds, a faint smile on her lips. She knows that the conversation will not stay with her for long, that her mother and aunt will soon disappear into their own worlds. Nevertheless, the feeling remains that she is caught in an invisible web of care and expectation.

“Okay, but you let me know, okay?” her mother asks, as if to make sure that Jane really understood what she wanted to say.

"Yes, I will." Jane stares out the window as the bus slowly drives down a narrow country road. The rough stone walls on either side of the road seem almost archaic, as if they have survived time itself.

Her aunt now turns to her.

"I thought we could rent a boat for a day. Like we used to, remember? You always had so much fun."

Jane nods mechanically, without really listening. The image of the landscape in front of her captivates her much more. She sees distant coastlines outlined on the horizon, the deep blue of the sea shimmering between the hills. That's what she wants. To just be here, just in this moment.

But her family's constant talking, their incessant attempts to shape every moment, are starting to tire her. It's as if they can't understand that she can live without their constant care - or maybe they just don't want to understand. And every time she tries to emphasize her independence, they avoid her or treat her as if she's exaggerating.

The bus is now driving through a small town. The narrow streets, the pastel-colored houses, the balconies with the ornate ironwork - everything seems charming, but also touristy, as if it had been polished to a high gloss especially for the visitors. A restaurant on the side of the road has placed its chairs and tables directly on the sidewalk. A few people are sitting there, drinking sangria, laughing and talking loudly.

“Look, that looks nice,” her mother calls out, pointing to the restaurant. “We could have lunch there tomorrow!”

“Maybe,” Jane answers vaguely and looks away again.

The landscape changes again as the bus leaves the city behind. Pine forests appear, thick green treetops swaying in the light wind. They act as a dense protective shield against the hot rays of the sun. The smell of pine resin penetrates through the window. Jane closes her eyes again and takes a deep breath. She tries not to feel oppressed by the constant presence of her family. But the harder she tries, the more the unease penetrates her.

Why can't they just accept that she's an adult? That she's able to take care of herself, to make her own decisions? She doesn't want to seem ungrateful - after all, they love her. But she wants space. Space for herself, for her own thoughts, without every decision being accompanied by the worried looks of her parents.

"Cala en Bosch - last stop!" the driver calls in broken English. Jane sits up. Her uncle and father are already standing and grabbing the luggage from the compartments above the seats. Jane waits until the aisle is clear before she stands up herself. Her legs feel stiff, but that will surely change soon once she is out in the fresh air.

As they get off the bus, the hot wind hits her, but it is a pleasant contrast to the stuffy air in the bus. She stretches briefly while her family takes care of the luggage. A small road stretches out in front of them that leads directly to the sea. She can already see the first boats rocking in the harbor, the deep blue of the water contrasting with the light sand of the beaches. The scent of salt and sea fills the air, and for a moment Jane can leave all the tension behind her.

"Now the vacation begins," she murmurs quietly to herself and forces a smile. She loves her family, but she also knows that they have to learn to let her go. Maybe this vacation will be an opportunity to show them that.

I sit on the couch and stare at my phone. The screen remains dark. No message from Jane. She should have arrived long ago, but nothing. No "We landed safely," no "Everything is fine here." Just silence. The thought that she may have had problems on the plane or upon arrival pierces my head like an unpleasant splinter. I look at the clock: 6:50 p.m. Ten minutes to go until 7 p.m. It's almost ridiculous how I cling to such an imaginary deadline.

Jane flew to Menorca with her family this morning. A family holiday - her father, mother, uncle, aunt. And of course Jane, my Jane.

I had known for days that it would be hard for me not to be able to see her, but now that she is actually gone, it feels like a part of me has been ripped off and left alone somewhere in the void.

I look at my phone again, even though I know there's nothing new. No notification. Only the dull hum of the refrigerator in the corner of my kitchen accompanies the silence.

Jane is 26. A delicate, complicated being, autistic, as she was diagnosed several years ago. But she lives very well with it. We live very well with it, and have done so for the four years we have been together.

Sometimes she feels everything more intensely than I ever could - sounds, touches, moods. Often she withdraws into herself, where the world is perhaps less confusing for her. Her family has learned to deal with her sensitivity, but they are overcautious, almost too caring. Especially her father. He has viewed me with suspicion ever since we were together. And I can't blame him. After all, I am almost 20 years older than Jane.

I am 45. An age when you shouldn't really care about other people's opinions anymore. But it's different with Jane's family. Maybe because I know that they are the most important thing to Jane. I would have loved to fly to Menorca for her today, but that was out of the question. Jane's father would never have allowed it. Maybe he thinks that I don't understand Jane well enough, that I'm somehow "overtaxing" her. But I don't. At least not consciously.

My phone suddenly vibrates. I jump, my heart skips a beat. It's a WhatsApp message. Jane's name lights up on the screen and I feel a wave of relief.

"We landed safely, Harry. We're in the hotel now. It's really nice here. Reminds me a bit of Croatia or America. I'll call you later with a voice message. Love you."

I take a deep breath. She arrived safely. Nothing happened. No accident, no panic attack at the airport, no problems with immigration. I stare at the screen for a moment, reading the message again. It's as if an invisible weight has been lifted from my shoulders. Jane is safe, she's in the hotel, and she seems to be fine.

Still, there's a strange, bitter aftertaste. As much as I'm happy to hear her message, I can't deny that I feel alone. She's so far away. I know it's silly - it's only Menorca, not the other side of the world. But the distance feels like an ocean. I put my phone on the table and lean back. The evening spreads around me like a heavy blanket, and I feel melancholy rising within me.

I miss her already. The room feels empty, quieter than it should be. The furniture around me suddenly seems lifeless, the walls bare, although nothing has changed. It is Jane's absence that makes everything different.

I think about her words.

“Reminds me a bit of Croatia or America.”

I have never been to Croatia. And I have only been on holiday to America a few times, but that was a long time ago. Jane loves to travel. When I think of her, I often see her on the move - on a ferry, her nose in the wind, or wandering through narrow streets in a foreign city, always curious, always with her eyes open. She sees the special in everything. I admire that about her, this urge to discover the world, even if she is sometimes overwhelmed by the sensory overload.

I look at the clock again. Almost 7:15 p.m. She wrote that she would get in touch later. Maybe a voicemail. It would be nice to hear her voice.

I sink deeper into the couch and try to concentrate on something else. Maybe I should read. But my eyes remain fixed on my phone, as if it could vibrate again at any moment.

The truth is, I would have loved to be with her. I would have loved to accompany her. Jane's family has remained a very important part of her life over the last few years, and I understand that. But sometimes I wonder if they will ever really accept me as a part of their lives. Her father seems to tolerate me, but that's all. And maybe that's because of my age. Maybe he sees me as someone who is not good for his daughter, who is holding her back in some way, even though the opposite is true. I have always tried to encourage Jane's independence, to encourage her to be self-reliant.

But I can't deny that it's hard not to share this holiday with her. Not because I'm so desperate to see Menorca again, but because I want to be a part of Jane's experiences. Her family will share stories, have inside jokes that I can't keep up with. They'll spend evenings together while I sit here, alone in my apartment, waiting for a message from her. I shake my head. These thoughts aren't helpful, they're unfair.

It's not Jane's fault. She asked me if I wanted to come and I know she meant it sincerely. But it was clear from the start that it wouldn't be possible. Her father would have been in a bad mood for a week and Jane didn't want to risk that. She wants harmony and I understand that. I don't want to make it harder for her than it already is sometimes.

---ENDE DER LESEPROBE---