Chapter 33 Flora
Flora
She showered quickly, braided her hair while it was still damp, and put on her school uniform.
She’d adjusted to her silent morning routine—no hair dryer, no cabinet doors slamming.
In the kitchen, she made herself toast with honey and poured orange juice into a travel mug.
She packed her lunch: a sandwich with the good cheese, an apple, some crackers. She left a note on the counter.
Gone to school, love, Flora
The walk to the metro station was her favorite part of the day.
Athens was waking up around her, shopkeepers rolling up their metal shutters, old men settling in at café tables with tiny cups of coffee and thick newspapers.
Sometimes Flora pretended she was a character in a movie, a mysteriously independent teenager who navigated foreign cities with effortless grace.
In the movie version, someone would notice how mature she was.
Someone would think she was remarkable.