HOMECOMING

Steven stepped off the plane and into Belgrade airport, blinking at the bustling, familiar sights that seemed almost unreal after all these years, sixteen years, to be exact, since he'd last set foot here. Sixteen years of silence between him and this place, the wound he'd left festering but hidden beneath the new life he'd built. He took a deep breath, and everything around him seemed to slow down, wrapping him in layers of familiar yet strange images, each clamoring for his attention like beggars for coins. Apprehension weighed heavily on him, filling him with doubt about his safety and his sanity. A question nagged at him, one he hadn't dared to ask until he decided to return, when memories started bubbling up in restless fragments. Was there something or someone he left here that he needed to visit to find closure and peace of mind?

The sound of Serbian buzzed around him, enveloping him like an old, half-forgotten melody. For a moment, the language felt comforting, grounding even. But beneath that comfort lurked old fears, something he'd worked hard to keep buried. Sixteen years hadn't erased the scars of the war he'd fled. Images crisscrossed through his mind: the sound of an explosion, rubble tumbling from a crumbling apartment block, faces twisted in horror. His jaw tightened, pushing the memory down, feeling it settle uncomfortably in his chest.

As he approached the customs line, an intense déjà vu hit him, disorienting him like a plunge into a fragmented dream. It felt as though the past and present were tangled together, blurring his sense of where he was. He could almost see his younger self navigating through the crowd, a mischievous grin lighting up his face as he scanned for familiar figures. The vividness of the experience made it seem as though he was walking in his own footsteps from years ago.

But there was no one waiting for him here, no joyful reunion. His mother had passed away just a few years after he left, and he hadn’t come back for her funeral. Couldn’t, he reminded himself, though he wasn’t sure if he was justifying his absence to himself or to some invisible presence, perhaps a ghost. He remembered the phone call, the distant, hollow voice telling him she was gone, and he’d hung up and stared at the wall, as though grief was something he could ignore if he didn’t let it into his consciousness.

His body sought revenge in its own way. First came the severe, unexplainable pain in his left side, a pain that felt like the shingles he’d had in his youth, but without the blisters. His doctors were puzzled; every test came back negative, offering no answers. Then the pain moved to the center of his chest, squeezing the air from his lungs. Panic ensued, what if it was a heart attack? Again, the tests revealed nothing.

Finally, he understood the source of his pain: when he lost his mother, he lost the unconditional love she’d blessed him with, stemming from her heart. The grief over her death couldn’t just vanish; the pain was real, even though doctors couldn’t find it in the physical realm of his body. It was still there, present and undeniable.

He shook his head sharply, forcing himself to focus on what was happening around him, in this time zone. "Focus, Steven," he whispered, gripping the handle of his suitcase as if it could ground him in reality. His life was different now. He’d built a career, a home, and a family in the States. There, he was Steven Radley, his Americanized name, a name that suited the new life he’d built and distanced him from his past. He had even met someone who understood and accepted the shadows of his past, someone who knew the parts of him he usually kept hidden. And yet, here he was, feeling as though the years had fallen away, as if he were the frightened twenty-five-year-old again, running from the rubble, the loss.

As he cleared customs and stepped out of the terminal, memories surfaced again, mingling with the present, his younger self laughing with friends, chasing after girls, the city pulsing with excitement, the atmosphere filled with the promise of the future. The city that had grown into a thriving European capital, with a film festival that drew international movie stars, alive with possibility. But this place was different now, rebuilt like him, but carrying scars that weren’t visible. The Serbia of his memories no longer existed, even if he had come back hoping to find pieces of it. He’d come for something specific, though he hadn’t admitted it to himself yet. Closure? But what did that really mean? Answers? Forgiveness? He wasn’t sure he had the courage to confront the questions that had brewed in his mind for so long.

"Focus, Steven," he repeated, trying to stay grounded, though the present held none of the comfort of his memories. Now, every face looked suspicious; every corner hid a potential threat. It wasn’t just the remnants of old fears; it was the unsettling question of who he was now, in a place that had once been his whole world.

Outside, he waited by the curb, scanning the line of taxis as cars and buses rumbled past, filling the air with the smell of exhaust. A man with a wide, easy smile waved him over. “Taxi, friend? Good price for you.”

Steven hesitated, his fingers tightening around his suitcase as he eyed the driver’s easy smile, wondering if there was something calculating behind it. Back in the States, he’d read article after article portraying Serbia as a place ravaged by the trauma of Yugoslavia’s breakup, civil wars, and bombings. The media painted it as a country run by organized criminals, people who had recently assassinated the Prime Minister, a symbol of hope for a brighter future. He knew enough not to trust strangers too easily, especially here, where he was an American, a foreigner from the country that had caused so much suffering.

But he couldn’t stand there forever. Finally, he gave the man a tight nod. “Let’s go.” He handed over his bag.

The driver took the suitcase with an efficient thump, then opened the back door for Steven. “Where to?” he asked, his tone warm and inviting.

"City center," Steven replied, sliding into the backseat. As the car pulled away from the airport, unease twisted tighter in his stomach. His gaze fixed on the back of the driver’s head, watching every movement, every turn of the steering wheel, each one sharpening his nerves. What if this man wasn’t as friendly as he seemed? What if, somehow, he knew who he was? The thought spiraled, irrational, overtaking his mind. Irrational fears were harder to shake when they’d once been rational. A flashback hit him, a memory too real, flooding back as if it were happening all over again. Kidnapped, robbed, murdered, his body tossed on the side of some godforsaken road. No, no, he couldn’t stay in this car. His life was in danger. He felt trapped, powerless, and vulnerable. He needed to find a way out.

His heartbeat pounded in his ears. His fingers dug into his knees, clammy with sweat. Finally, he cleared his throat, his voice emerging in a low, unsteady tremor. "Actually, I… I think I forgot something at customs."

The driver glanced at him in the rearview mirror, one eyebrow lifting in surprise. "Did you leave something important?"

"Yes," Steven said, too quickly. His fingers gripped his knees, slick with sweat. "Very important. Could we turn back?"

The driver hesitated, then nodded. “Of course.” He pulled over to the curb, a touch of confusion in his eyes, but Steven barely waited for the car to stop before he was out, yanking his suitcase from the trunk.

“Sorry,” he said quickly, avoiding the driver’s gaze. The driver shrugged, still looking puzzled, but gave him a small wave as he pulled away, leaving Steven standing by the roadside with his heart hammering in his chest. The relief was immediate, yet shame crept over him as he realized he’d lied to an innocent man who’d shown him nothing but kindness. The driver had only tried to help, and here he was, treating him like an enemy. Honesty had always been his guiding principle. But today, fear and self-preservation had overridden it. Was this place already changing him?

A bus rolled up nearby, and Steven noticed the bus driver, a middle-aged man, watching him with a calm, neutral expression. He opened the front door. “You look like you need a ride. Heading into the city?”

Steven wavered, but the sight of other passengers made him feel safer, anonymity among strangers, a buffer against his own anxieties. “Yes, thank you,” he said, and climbed on, holding his suitcase tightly as he found a seat near the front.

As the bus pulled away from the curb, he felt his heart begin to slow, the adrenaline receding like a tide. The familiar hum of the engine and the murmur of passengers around him helped ease his nerves. In the rearview mirror, the bus driver caught his eye.

“Did the taxi driver try to rip you off?” he asked, a touch of sympathy in his voice.

Steven managed a half-smile, shaking his head. “No… nothing like that. I just… feel a little safer here, that’s all.”

The bus driver nodded, seeming to understand. “You’re not the first to feel that way,” he said.

Steven didn’t reply, but he glanced out the window, watching the city slide past, new buildings rising from the rubble of old ones, a place transformed, just as he had been.

“Going home?” the passenger next to him asked.

Steven thought for a moment, gazing out as the city center approached. “Something like that,” he replied quietly. He knew he was going to his old neighborhood, to the street he’d once called home, but more than that, he was going to find the one person who had risked everything to save him, Luka, the friend he’d left behind.

The thought of confronting his past, of finally seeking answers to questions he had feared asking, filled him with both dread and longing. He had come back to face what he had run from, to reconcile with the version of himself he’d left behind.

As the bus arrived in the city center and Steven stepped off, he felt the old fear settle beside him, not gone, but quieter, like a familiar companion. His memories, once buried, were now a guide, helping him navigate the present. He would hold onto them, allowing them to shape his path without letting fear distort it.