Elsewhere Otherwise

A month passed. Then another. And another.

Four months after the concert, Fali’s phone finally buzzed with a message that made his heart skip a beat when he saw the sender’s name.

Two minutes later, he was sprinting downstairs, rifling through his wallet - snatched hastily from the counter - to make sure his driver’s license and keys were inside. He charged into the apartment block’s parking garage, his beeline for the car more precise than the guided missiles that once sat hungrily within Freyla’s internal bay.

The small city car, the same color as the clouds above, growled to life as he pulled out - going a little over the speed limit, his route already mapped out in his head. But he wasn’t thinking about turns or traffic. He was thinking about what he would say.

He’d never been good at starting conversations - only answering them. As he drove, he replayed the months since he’d last seen her. What could he tell her that would sound interesting? What could lead naturally into a conversation?

A mental list began to form. He’d found his ideal airplane, an old but golden model sitting far out in the countryside - well within his budget. He’d also managed to get a job. Nothing glamorous, just remote work on his laptop, but it paid the bills. He’d only gotten it because the employer had let him apply from home - and apparently hadn’t recognized his name.

Still, none of those things felt worth mentioning. None of them would impress someone like her.

He tightened his grip on the steering wheel, exhaling slowly. His thoughts spun through possible small-talk questions - weather, travel, music, life on the road. Anything that would let her talk. He would be happy just to listen.

Somewhere in the middle of those thoughts, a quiet promise took shape.
If they hit it off, he’d do everything he could to make her happy.

The thought made him smile. Silly, maybe. But it felt right - like a goal, a mission, a new kind of purpose. And that was how he calmed his restless mind, still learning how to live in the quiet pace of a life after war.

The café sat far out on the city’s outskirts, nestled in a quiet suburb whose streets were quieter than a library. Parking was plentiful, and soon Fali was walking along the pavement, heart thumping, fingers fidgeting with his car keys in his pocket. He recognized the early signs of what military pilots called the twitch.

So he deployed his old remedy.

The pavement disappeared. The open sky spread out beneath his feet. The café door ahead became a runway, the tables and chairs behind the glass the base’s buildings. His car keys became the control stick, his pace the throttle. He steadied his breathing and came in for landing - smooth, deliberate, perfect. The sun above was calm, the light winds normal. His hand reached for the door, and as he pushed it open, he flared gently and touched down.

Butter landing.

Then the world snapped back.

The café air was warm and filled with the scent of roasted beans. His heart steadied - until his eyes found her.

Mele sat by the window, bright brown eyes sparkling as she waved. That radiant smile shattered all his mental preparation. His heart lurched, thudding beneath his ribs. She was wearing a delicate blouse with ruffled sleeves and a long, flowing skirt. Her modesty surprised him - he’d expected a performer to be more showy - but inwardly he was glad. Glad that she carried herself with quiet dignity.

He waved back and walked over, the chair scraping softly as he sat opposite her. She rested her chin on her hands, elbows on the small metal table between them.

“Nice to see you again, Fali. It’s been a little while, hasn’t it?”

He nodded. “Yeah, it has.”

“Sorry,” she said, a hint of guilt in her smile. “I’ve been really busy.”

He shook his head quickly. “No, no! It’s fine. Not your fault.”

She smiled again, gently. “I guess. Anyway, how’ve you been?”

He shrugged. “Alright. I haven’t done much, to be honest. I’m a little disappointed in myself.”

She leaned in, teasing. “Come on. Tell me something.”

He sighed. “I don’t know if it’ll interest you, but I’ve been looking at getting a plane. I think I finally found one.”

Her eyebrows lifted. “Really? You think you can get back in the air without any trouble?”

He frowned slightly. “Yeah. Why?”

She shrugged. “Oh, I’ve heard stories about military pilots who can’t fly again. PTSD or something.” She smiled, softening it. “But I’m glad you think you can. You’ll have to take me up one day.”

He smiled - just enough teeth to show sincerity. “Sure. I’d love to.”

His mind kicked into overdrive, recognizing a critical moment. The pressure was on. If the conversation fizzled now, that could be it - the end. The battle in his head was bigger than any dogfight he’d ever fought.

“What about you?” he asked quickly. “What’ve you been up to?”

“Oh, you know. The usual. Travelling, performing, travelling, performing, on repeat.”

“How many since we last met?”

She thought for a moment, lips moving as she counted. “Around thirty-five, I think.”

He almost choked on air. “Thirty-five!?”

She nodded, a little sadly. “Mhm. But it pays well, so I can’t really complain.”

He leaned back, whistling softly. “Thirty-five… wow. I hope you’re at least a little proud of yourself.”

“I am,” she said quietly. “I just wish it wasn’t so hectic all the time.”

He opened his mouth to ask more, but a casually dressed waitress appeared beside them, pen clicking as she lifted a small notepad.

“Hello! What can I get for you today?”

Her eyes widened when she recognized them both - but one sharp glance from Fali brought her back to her senses. Mele pretended not to notice.

“I’ll have a hot chocolate, thanks,” Mele said.

“I’ll have the same,” Fali added automatically. He hadn’t meant to mimic her, it just happened. He would’ve preferred a flat white, but somehow, the words didn’t come out that way.

The waitress scribbled quickly. “Will that be all?”

They nodded, and she nearly skipped away - no doubt thrilled that two of the most famous people in the country were sitting in her quiet little café.

Fali sighed and looked back at Mele, his thoughts flowing again.

“Oh, I was going to ask, why are you back here? Do you have a show?”

She smiled shyly.
“No. I’ve requested a break from performing. I have a month off now.”

Hope rose in his chest as he considered what that meant. If she had nothing to do for a whole month - and had decided to spend that month in the city where he lived…

“So you… came here…”

She nodded, her dark hair swaying gently with the movement.
“Mhm…”

Never before had Fali wished so much for calm within himself. Not even flying ground-strike missions had made him this nervous. He drew in a slow breath and tried to change tack.

“Well, did you play anywhere special?”

She nodded, though her expression dimmed slightly, as if a little disappointed that he hadn’t pressed further about why she’d come back.
“A few, yeah. But the venue is rarely what makes it special. It’s the people.”

He raised an eyebrow.
“The people?”

She nodded again.
“Mhm. Lots of famous faces in the recent audiences.”

Then she suddenly grinned.
“Actually, one of my shows was for a bunch of POWs. Can you believe that? Hundreds of them, all clapping and hollering like they weren’t in prison uniforms, surrounded by guards with rifles.”

He smiled at the image. It was absurd - and yet endearing.
“That’s crazy. And you weren’t nervous?”

She shook her head.
“No more than usual. After all, they’re human too. If they respect me, then I respect them. Simple as that.”

He nodded, thinking about how he’d have reacted in the same situation - performing for people who, just over half a year ago, had been trying to kill him, and he them. The thought was harrowing. He shook it off, his mind already scanning for new conversation threads.

But before he could speak, the waitress returned, placing their drinks down and nearly squealing with excitement before darting away again.

He opened his mouth, but Mele beat him to it.

“I’ve been thinking a lot recently.”

He tilted his head.
“What about?”

She shrugged lightly.
“Everything. Life. The past, the present, the future. What I’m supposed to do.”

The sudden shift in tone caught him off guard, but he met her gaze and nodded.
“Yeah. I’ve been doing the same. It’s hard to switch from military to civilian life, though I suppose, for you, things haven’t changed all that much.”

She gave a small, wistful smile.
“You’re right. My day-to-day hasn’t changed much. But the people, and the things I’ve been seeing… it’s all changed.”

“For better or worse?”

She paused, then shrugged.
“Both. I see people celebrating like the world’s been reborn, and others who can’t stop crying. Sometimes they’re sitting right next to each other.”

She fell silent, her eyes clouding with thought. Before Fali could speak, she looked up again and locked eyes with him.

“I want to stop performing.”

The words hit him like a sudden gust.
“Stop? Why?”

Her expression didn’t waver.
“I’ve had enough. Don’t get me wrong, I still want to make music. But I don’t want to play live anymore. I want to disappear for a while.”

He frowned.
“Disappear?”

But deep down, he already understood. She’d had enough of the attention - the endless eyes, the constant admiration. She didn’t want to be seen anymore.

She nodded.
“Yeah. I don’t know where. But I want to hide for a while, and try to write something of my own. I’ve only ever performed songs written by other people. I want to write my own stuff. Is that fair?”

Her eyes searched his, pleading for agreement - but he already knew his answer.
“Of course that’s fair.”

He sighed softly.
“But how will you convince your manager? I assume you haven’t told him about this yet.”

She sighed, too.
“Well, it’s just a thought right now. No real plans.”