Sera had lived in Arkhangelsk long enough that most people no longer considered her new.
At work, she had become part of the routine.
People knew which coffee she preferred.
They knew she didn’t like overly sweet food.
They knew she sometimes stayed late when there was extra paperwork and that she usually preferred walking home instead of taking a bus.
They also knew very little about where she had come from.
That was intentional.
One evening, after work, Sera stopped at a small café with two coworkers.
The conversation moved from work to travel, then eventually to family.
One of them turned to her.
“Do you ever miss home?”
Sera thought for a moment.
“Sometimes.”
It was true.
She did miss home.
She just didn’t know which part of it she missed anymore.
The conversation moved on.
Later that night, Sera walked home alone.
The streets were quiet, and the cold air made her pull her coat tighter.
She thought about the question again.
Home.
She hadn’t used her real name here in years.
Sera had been easier.
Shorter.
Less memorable.
A name that belonged to the life she had built in this city.
She reached her apartment and dropped her keys onto the table.
For some reason, she looked at herself in the mirror.
“Sera.”
The name sounded strange when she said it alone.
Then she smiled slightly.
“It is just a mask.”
There was nothing wrong with that.
She had needed it once.
She might need it again.
But the person wearing it hadn’t changed.
She looked at her reflection.
“I’m Seraphina Kalhari.”
She paused.
“That’s who I was.”
Another pause.
“That’s who I am.”
She smiled.
“And that’s who I’ll be.”
The thought was simple.
It didn’t need anything more.
Sera turned away from the mirror and started making coffee.
Tomorrow was another workday.