A Blanket, a Breakdown, and a Boarding Pass

June 17, 2025

A Blanket, a Breakdown, and a Boarding Pass

The wind whistled against the glass, gentle but persistent, like a secret trying to slip into the room. She was wrapped in a thick quilt, curled in the exact shape of comfort. It was one of those rare winter mornings that made staying still feel like an achievement. Her breath was warm, her eyelids heavy, her world reduced to the space between the pillow and the wall.
And then came the craving.

Not hunger. Not thirst. A craving.
For coffee.

She knew what it meant: the quilt would have to come off. To get to that perfect cup—warm, rich, rewarding—she’d have to let go of this warmth, this peace, this bed. The thought itself made her sink deeper into the mattress. But she also knew the truth. That every single time, stepping out into the cold to make that cup was worth it.

That was exactly what this moment in her life felt like.

She had made a decision—somewhat impulsive, somewhat inevitable—to go abroad for her two-month apprenticeship. It wasn’t the first time she had done something bold, but it was the first time she had done something this far away from home. From the quiet taunts of her dad. From the gentle rhythm of her mom’s lap, where she’d talk endlessly about people who didn’t matter, and feelings that did.

At 2 a.m., three days before her flight, it hit her.

She was trying to study, trying to act like this was just another exam, another week. But in the middle of flipping pages and scribbling notes, the fear arrived—uninvited and fully dressed.
Three days. In just three days, she would be gone.

What if it didn’t feel right?
What if she was too homesick to function?
What if the job didn’t match the picture she’d painted so confidently in her head?

She quietly left her room and walked into her parents’ room. No words, no drama. Just a girl, wide-eyed and overwhelmed, crawling into her mother’s sleep to cry.

It wasn’t Dubai she was afraid of. It was the idea of leaving the people who made her feel like she never had to be anything more than who she already was.

The day she left was chaos disguised as preparation. She was running errands, meeting people, double-checking everything from chargers to her own sanity. Time moved faster than she could, and by 7 p.m., she was at the airport, heart racing as if it was trying to make a last-minute escape.

Two months may not sound like much.
But to a girl who once avoided sleepovers just because they meant being away from home—it was everything.

She hugged her mom tight, held back the sob in her throat, and walked past the line that separated what was known from what was next.

The first few days in Dubai were brutal. Her body was present, but her soul was back in the bedroom under that quilt. On Day 2, she was ready to fly back. No shame. Just raw need.

But the strangest thing happened—by Day 4, she was okay.

Not perfectly okay. Just… okay enough.

Enough to wander alone, to try new food, to learn the roads and rail timings.
Enough to budget for life and still feel alive.
Enough to feel small wins—the kind that come from solving things without help.

She even ate at a five-star hotel alone, with no occasion, no company—just hunger and confidence.

There were setbacks too—like guilt that crept in when she crossed her budget by 8 dirhams. Or the heavy silence of evenings where she wished she could teleport home just to laugh over chai. But the truth was undeniable.

She was changing.

She didn’t leave to find herself. She left to prove that she could keep going even when nothing felt familiar.
And in the soft, fragrant swirl of her first solo cup of coffee in Dubai, she realized—
Maybe the warmth isn’t always in the quilt.

Sometimes, it’s in what you choose to do when you step out of it.

Zainab

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