Love
Galinda had bruises all over her body when the branches finally released her—deep violets and angry reds blooming along her arms, ribs, and legs like the final remnants of the forest’s hold. Her limbs ached as if she’d run a marathon in her sleep, and when the vines let go, the sharp ache in her stomach returned—no longer hollow, no longer blooming, just painfully human again. She winced as Elphaba helped her sit up, every movement tugging at something sore. But it wasn’t the pain that made her chest tighten—it was the overwhelming weight of being alive. Of being seen. Her fingers trembled as she reached instinctively for Elphaba’s sleeve, grounding herself in the presence of the one person who hadn’t looked away. She felt cracked open, raw in ways that had nothing to do with flesh or bone. And yet, through the exhaustion and trembling, through the dizzying flood of feeling—grief, relief, awe—she managed a weak smile, voice barely louder than the wind.
“Will you… help me with the bandages?” she whispered. “In the dormitory. Please?”
There was a pause—a breath suspended between them—and then Elphaba nodded, eyes still wet, voice too thick to speak. She didn’t care about the mud or the petals still tangled in Galinda’s curls. She just wrapped an arm around her, careful but firm, and helped her to her feet.
Galinda leaned into her like it was the only place in the world that didn’t hurt.
"Go slowly, my sweet," Elphaba murmured, her voice softer than the wind threading through the trees. "And lean on me."
Galinda did. She pressed into Elphaba’s side, every step a careful negotiation between pain and trust. Her legs still trembled with the memory of being claimed by the earth, but Elphaba was steady—solid.
Further ahead, Madame Morrible, Fiyero, Croppe, and Tibbet exhaled in collective relief, their concern painting their features in quiet shades of awe and confusion. No one spoke. Not yet. There were no words for what they’d just witnessed.
“Can the nurse send some supplies to our dormitory?” Elphaba asked Madame Morrible, her tone clipped but respectful—still holding Galinda as if she might vanish again.
The headmistress nodded, eyes narrowed in thought, but said nothing more.
Back at the dorm, the door clicked shut behind them with a hush that felt sacred. Elphaba guided Galinda gently to the bed, her hands steady even as her heart hadn’t quite slowed. She helped her lie down, arranging pillows behind her back, pulling the blanket over her legs with slow reverence.
And just before she stepped away, Elphaba leaned in and kissed her.
It was soft. Unhurried. No wildflowers. No magic. Just lips against lips—warm, grounding, real.
Galinda’s breath caught in her throat, and she flushed, her cheeks turning the softest shade of pink.
“Elphie…” she whispered, her voice part disbelief, part wonder.
Elphaba only smiled—just a flicker, but there. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Not long after they settled in, there was a soft knock at the door. Elphaba rose, careful not to jostle the bed, and opened it just enough to see the nurse standing there, arms full of gaze, ointments, and a basin of warm water.
“She’ll be alright,” the nurse murmured, voice kind and low, as though afraid to disturb the quiet comfort blooming behind the door. “But she’ll need care. Especially tonight.”
Elphaba nodded, her throat tight with gratitude she didn’t quite know how to voice. She accepted the supplies with both hands, a quiet “thank you” barely escaping her lips. The nurse offered a knowing look before disappearing down the hall.
Elphaba shut the door gently and turned back toward the bed.
Galinda watched her from the pillows, eyes half-lidded but bright with affection, her golden hair fanned out like sunbeams against the dark green of the blanket. The flush of pain still colored her cheeks, but her gaze was steady. Trusting.
“I want to take care of you,” Elphaba said, her voice quiet but firm. “Let me.”
Galinda gave a small nod, lips parting as though to say something, but the words never came. They didn’t need to.
Elphaba set everything down on the desk, rolling up her sleeves with slow, deliberate movements. Then she pulled the chair close to the bed and sat beside her, knees brushing Galinda’s. The room smelled faintly of moss and flowers, a lingering reminder of the clearing—of everything they’d almost lost.
She dipped a clean cloth into the basin, watching the water ripple as her fingers stirred it. Then she wrung it out and reached for Galinda, her hands moving with a gentleness that made the blonde’s breath catch.
Elphaba carefully lifted the hem of Galinda’s shirt.
And froze.
Bruises bloomed across her ribs like ink stains—purple, blue, and black, fading into yellow at the edges like a watercolor gone wrong. Her skin looked too soft, too fragile, like it might split open if touched the wrong way.
Elphaba’s breath hitched at the sight. Her jaw clenched.
But she said nothing.
She only pressed the cloth gently against Galinda’s skin, cleaning away dirt and dried blood with slow, reverent strokes. Her hands shook, just barely, as if the weight of what almost happened was only now sinking in.
Galinda winced once, but didn’t pull away. She watched Elphaba in silence, her chest rising and falling with shallow breaths.
The silence between them wasn’t awkward. It wasn’t cold.
It was sacred.
Elphaba’s fingers moved carefully, almost worshipfully, tracing the shape of each injury with salve and gaze. Her touch was precise, almost clinical—but behind every movement was something deeper. A trembling kind of reverence. Like she was afraid that one wrong move might hurt Galinda more than the vines ever had.
“You’re good at this,” Galinda whispered, her voice soft, like a secret being offered.
“I’ve had to patch myself up before,” Elphaba replied, not quite meeting her eyes. Her voice cracked at the edges, barely audible. “But it’s different with you.”
Galinda’s lips curled into a faint, crooked smile. “Because I’m prettier?”
Elphaba paused, her eyes flicking up at last. “Because I care.”
That made Galinda fall quiet. Her breath caught—but not from pain. Not this time.
Elphaba finished with the last bruise, smoothing the bandage with a light touch. Her hand lingered on Galinda’s side for a heartbeat too long.
“There,” she said quietly. “All done. For now.”
Galinda looked at her—really looked at her—and reached for her hand. Their fingers found each other easily, as if they were made for it, entwining like roots in freshly turned soil.
“Stay?” she asked, voice trembling.
Elphaba sat beside her on the bed without hesitation, never letting go.
“Always, my sweet,” she whispered.
Galinda smiled, exhausted but safe now. Safe in a way she hadn’t been in days. And as Elphaba brushed a strand of golden hair behind her ear, she realized—this wasn’t just survival.
It was something beginning.
“I don’t understand,” Galinda said, her voice barely above a whisper.
An hour had passed since her bath—Elphaba had helped her in and out, careful not to aggravate the bruises—and now they were lying side by side again, beneath the duvet. The room was hushed, save for the soft crackle of the old lantern on the desk, its light casting long, flickering shadows across the ceiling like ghosts too weary to haunt.
Galinda’s golden hair was still damp, curling slightly where it brushed the pillow. Her skin, pale in the dim light, bore the marks of the day—faint bruises blooming like watercolors along her ribs and arms. She turned toward Elphaba, her gaze heavy-lidded but searching, filled with something fragile and aching.
“If you feel the same,” she continued, softer still, “why did you throw the bouquet away? Why didn’t you say anything all day?”
Elphaba froze.
The question drifted between them like smoke—thick, suffocating, impossible to ignore.
Her throat tightened. She looked away, unable to withstand the tenderness in Galinda’s eyes, and stared at the ceiling as if the answer might be hiding in the beams or the shadows they cast.
“I—” she started, but the words caught, brittle in her mouth.
Her face flushed with shame. She twisted her fingers into the edge of the quilt.
“Because I thought it wasn’t real,” she whispered at last.
Galinda blinked, but didn’t move.
Elphaba inhaled shakily. “Because I thought you were doing it out of pity.”
“Pity?” Galinda repeated, her voice caught between disbelief and hurt.
Elphaba groaned softly, burying her face in her hands. She pressed her palms against her eyes as if trying to block out everything—then lowered them, forcing herself to look at Galinda even though it felt like stepping off a ledge.
“Not because you wanted me,” she said quietly. “But because you thought I was the green girl no one else wanted. And you—you’re kind, and good, and so gentle. I thought maybe you were just trying to do something nice…”
Galinda drew in a breath, her brows knitting—not in anger, but in raw, disbelieving pain.
“You think I’d do that?” she asked, the words nearly breaking. “Elphie, I did it because I wanted to. Because I would’ve done a hundred more things if I’d thought I had the time. Because I love you so much it hurts. Because making you smile— really smile—is all I’ve wanted for so long. Not out of pity. Never.”
Her voice cracked, and she turned her face slightly away, tears glinting in her eyes.
Elphaba leaned in at once, brushing the tears from Galinda’s cheeks with trembling fingers, then kissing them away one by one.
“Shhhh,” she whispered, lips soft against her skin. “I know that now, my sweet. I know.”
The two eventually drifted off to sleep, tangled in quiet breath and the warmth of shared blankets. Elphaba’s arm stayed protectively draped over Galinda’s waist, fingers unconsciously curled around the fabric of her nightgown. The quiet between them was complete, the kind that could only settle in the aftermath of both fear and confession. For a while, everything was still.
But it wasn’t long before Galinda began to stir, her peaceful breathing breaking into uneven gasps. Her body tensed, a fine sheen of sweat breaking out across her brow. She whimpered softly, turning her face into the pillow, as if trying to escape something only she could see.
In her dream, she was back in the forest.
The trees loomed taller than before, their branches clawing at her skin like angry fingers. She was alone again, bound in vines slick with thorns, and the pain in her ribs throbbed like a heartbeat—hot and consuming. Her lungs refused to expand. Her mouth opened, but no sound came. Her voice was gone, stolen by the same magic that had nearly broken her.
She tried to scream.
Beside her, Elphaba’s brows furrowed in her sleep. She felt the twitch of Galinda’s body, the tension, the quiet gasps—and instantly, she was awake.
“Galinda,” she murmured, groggy but already alert. “My sweet, it’s alright, it’s just a bad dream.”
But the dream didn’t let go.
Galinda writhed, her hands clutching at the sheets, her lips moving in silent panic. Her breathing was shallow, and a pained sound escaped her throat—soft but haunting.
Elphaba bolted upright, her heart hammering. “Galinda—no, no, please—wake up.” She reached for her, gently shaking her shoulder. “You’re dreaming. You’re safe. Wake up, my sweet.”
Galinda didn’t stir.
Elphaba cupped her cheek, thumb stroking gently over damp skin. “Please… come back to me,” she whispered, voice cracking. She leaned in, pressing a kiss to her temple, then her forehead. “You’re not alone. I’ve got you. I’m here.”
Galinda sucked in a sharp breath—then suddenly her eyes flew open.
They were wide, glassy, disoriented. She blinked, trying to make sense of the room, of Elphaba’s face hovering above hers.
“Elphie?” she rasped, voice hoarse and shaking.
“I’m here,” Elphaba breathed, brushing a few strands of hair from Galinda’s forehead. “You’re safe. It was just a nightmare.”
Galinda’s lip trembled. “It felt so real…”
“I know,” Elphaba whispered. She lay back down, pulling Galinda into her arms, wrapping around her like a shield. “But it’s over. I won’t let anything hurt you again.”
Galinda curled closer, her hands fisting in the front of Elphaba’s shirt, like an anchor. Elphaba kissed her hair and kept whispering the same three words until Galinda’s body slowly began to relax again.
“I’m here. I’m here. I’m here.”
Two days had passed, and Galinda was still resting in the room. She hadn’t stepped outside, not even once—not because she couldn’t, but because she didn’t want to. The world beyond the door felt too loud, too bright, too far away from the quiet safety they’d built within those four walls.
Elphaba had just returned from the dining hall, a covered tray balanced in her hands. She set it on the desk without ceremony—lunch could wait. Galinda was propped up with pillows against the headboard, her hair brushed and gleaming, her bruises fading but still tender beneath her nightgown. She looked up with a smile that warmed every tired part of Elphaba’s soul.
“You didn’t have to rush,” Galinda murmured as Elphaba slid into bed beside her.
“I wasn’t about to let that stew get cold,” Elphaba replied, even though she didn’t glance at the food once. Her arms were already wrapping around Galinda’s waist, drawing her in gently. “And besides… I missed you. Again.”
Galinda laughed softly, resting her forehead against Elphaba’s. “You saw me less than twenty minutes ago.”
“Exactly.” Elphaba’s fingers brushed along the curve of her back. “Tragic, wasn’t it?”
The blonde leaned in, pressing a light kiss to Elphaba’s lips—just a breath of a kiss, soft and lingering, like a sigh in the middle of a lazy afternoon. Elphaba melted into it, her hand slipping to cradle the back of Galinda’s head, careful, always careful.
They stayed like that for a while. Kissing. Touching. Not in urgency, but in reverence.
Every kiss said I’m glad you’re here. Every breath shared said we made it. Every heartbeat, pressed chest to chest, said you’re mine and I’m yours.
They didn’t speak much. They didn’t need to.
The food went cold. The shadows outside the window shifted. At some point, the lantern sputtered and dimmed, but neither of them moved.
Galinda nuzzled against Elphaba’s shoulder, her voice so quiet it almost didn’t reach her ears. “I don’t want to go back yet.”
Elphaba kissed the crown of her head. “Then don’t.”
“What if they come knocking?”
“Let them knock.” She tightened her arms just slightly, protectively. “They can knock until their knuckles bleed. I’m not letting go.”
Galinda smiled, eyes fluttering closed. “I love you, Elphie.”
Elphaba didn’t answer right away. She simply held her tighter, heart swelling with something so fierce and gentle it ached.
Then, finally, she whispered, “I love you too. More than I know how to say.”
Outside, the world went on.
But inside the room, time stood still.
But eventually, Galinda had to return to class.
On the first morning back, Elphaba walked her to the door, her fingers reluctant to let go. Galinda still moved carefully—her steps cautious, her body not quite back to normal—but the worst had passed. Her cheeks held a touch more color, her eyes clearer than they’d been in days. She cast one last look over her shoulder before stepping into the hall—a look that said wait for me . Elphaba nodded, quiet, but her eyes carried everything she didn’t say.
The corridors felt louder than Galinda remembered. Faster, harsher. The chatter of students, the clatter of books, the echoing slam of a distant locker—all of it grated against the quiet rhythm she and Elphaba had fallen into. For a moment, she wondered if she had made a mistake. If maybe she’d returned too soon.
But as the hours went by, she found herself breathing a little easier. The warmth of the classrooms, the scratch of quills against parchment, even Madame Morrible’s dry lectures—there was comfort in the routine. There was comfort in being seen again, even if some of the glances she received lingered too long, full of questions.
By lunchtime, she was feeling strong enough to join Shenshen and Pfannee in the dining hall. They squealed the moment they saw her, rushing over with arms outstretched and half-whispered gossip already spilling from their lips. Shenshen hugged her like she was something fragile and precious; Pfannee clutched her hands like she might disappear again.
“Darling, you look divine,” Pfannee said, tilting her chin to examine her closely. “A little pale, but divine.”
“We were so worried,” Shenshen added, dramatically fanning her face. “You missed everything , you have no idea.”
Galinda laughed, the sound soft but genuine, and let herself be pulled into their orbit. She winced slightly when Pfannee accidentally brushed a healing bruise, but she didn’t say anything. She didn’t want to ruin the moment.
It wasn’t the same as the quiet warmth of her room with Elphaba. It wasn’t the same as soft hands and whispered stories and the kind of silence that made her feel safe . But it felt good to smile again. To laugh. To pretend, just for a little while, that everything was normal.
And later that afternoon, when she returned to find Elphaba waiting on her bed with a book in her lap and tea already steeped—when those green eyes looked up and softened with quiet relief—Galinda realized something important.
She didn’t have to choose between joy and healing. Between being held and being whole.
She could have both.
And she would.
They were all gathered in the poppy field, the sun hanging low in the sky, casting a golden haze across the swaying red blooms. Nessarose sat primly beneath the shade of a conjured parasol, her hands folded in her lap. Boq leaned on one elbow beside her, squinting into the distance. Fiyero lounged back on his elbows, looking absurdly relaxed. Crope and Tibbet were chasing dragonflies like overgrown children. Even Shenshen and Pfannee had come along.
Pfannee let out a high-pitched giggle as she dropped backward into the flowers, arms flung wide like she was ready to be claimed by the field itself. “Oh Oz, can you imagine ? Let something as tragic as flowers be Galinda’s end. It would be so poetically ridiculous.”
“It’s not funny,” Elphaba snapped, her voice sharp with a sudden bite.
Her fingers never stopped moving—slow and careful through Galinda’s hair, brushing the soft curls back from her face where she lay with her head in Elphaba’s lap, blinking slow and sleepy. The magic of the poppies still hummed in the air, seductive and dangerous, and though Galinda was stronger now, Elphaba wasn’t taking chances.
“I’m serious,” she added, softer now, her hand pausing briefly over Galinda’s temple before continuing its gentle path. “She’s not a punchline.”
Pfannee looked chastened, lips parted like she meant to defend herself, but the words didn’t come. Shenshen nudged her with an elbow, shaking her head.
The group fell into a quieter rhythm then. A breeze stirred the poppies, and somewhere in the distance, a lark sang.
Galinda shifted a little, reaching up to touch Elphaba’s wrist, her eyes fluttering half-open. “I’m fine,” she murmured, though her voice was still thick with drowsiness. “You worry too much.”
Elphaba didn’t reply—not with words. She just leaned down and pressed a kiss to Galinda’s forehead, letting it linger, grounding them both.
Let the others play. Let the poppies bloom.
Then Galinda shifted in Elphaba’s lap, rising just enough to pluck one of the poppies blooming nearby. With a dreamy smile, she tucked it gently behind Elphaba’s ear, her fingers lingering for a moment on the green curve of her cheek.
Elphaba blinked in surprise, caught somewhere between a flinch and stillness, as if unsure what to do with the sudden softness directed at her.
Galinda leaned in, her voice barely above a whisper—soft as silk and filled with something warm and achingly tender.
“Pink goes good with green.”
“Goes well,” Elphaba corrected automatically, though her voice had no edge to it. No bite. Just the echo of old habits, gently worn down by the girl in her arms.
“Oh, Miss Elphaba,” Galinda murmured, smiling now, her breath warm against Elphaba’s skin. “Look at you. You’re beautiful.”
Elphaba’s breath hitched. Her eyes searched Galinda’s face like she was trying to memorize it—every freckle, every curl, every impossible piece of her. As if she couldn’t believe what she’d just heard… or worse, that it was meant for her. Her hands flexed slightly, as though unsure whether to pull away or hold on tighter.
But Galinda didn’t falter. She only smiled, her gaze half-lidded with affection, and let her fingers drift downward, tracing the hollow of Elphaba’s throat, then resting lightly against her collarbone as if to say: I see all of you. And I still choose you.
The poppies swayed in the wind around them, red and wild and bright.
And Elphaba let herself believe it, just for a moment. She leaned forward, just barely, her forehead brushing Galinda’s.
“Do you mean that?” she whispered.
Galinda’s answer was a kiss—gentle, lingering, full of certainty.
“Always,” she whispered back.
And for the first time in a long while, the ache in Elphaba’s chest didn’t come from loneliness. It came from hope.
“MOMSIE AND POPSICLE’S LETTER HAS ARRIVED!” Galinda shouted, bursting through the door of their shared dorm with the force of a small tornado, curls bouncing, cheeks flushed pink with excitement.
Elphaba looked up from her book, eyes wide in alarm until she registered the expression on Galinda’s face—pure delight, shining and breathless.
Galinda didn’t even pause to take off her shoes. She skipped across the room, waving a cream-colored envelope like it was a royal decree, and clutched a folded letter in her other hand with a theatrical flair only she could manage.
“They sent two one-way tickets and two return tickets to the Emerald City!” she squealed, nearly vibrating with glee. “We’re going, Elphie—we’re really going!”
Elphaba blinked, the words taking a moment to land. “You mean… both of us?”
Galinda stopped just short of tripping over a rug, her heels clicking as she spun to face her. “Yes!Yes! They said it in the letter—both of us! They’ve booked the same train, the same hotel suite, the same everything!” She squeaked with joy and clutched the letter to her chest. “Ohhh, Elphie!”
She twirled, arms out, then practically leapt onto the bed, collapsing beside Elphaba in a fit of laughter and barely-contained delight.
“And that’s not even the best part,” she added, breathless, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “After the trip, we’re going to Frottica to spend the entire summer with my family. And you don’t have to go home. You don’t have to go anywhere. Just—stay with me. All summer. Just us.”
Elphaba stared at her, unmoving, the book slowly sliding from her lap and thudding quietly against the mattress.
“You want me to come with you,” she said, slowly, as if afraid the words might break if she said them too loud.
Galinda leaned in, took Elphaba’s hand with a gentleness that said yes more clearly than words ever could, and gave it a warm, steady squeeze.
“Of course I do,” she whispered, her smile turning tender. “I always have.”
Elphaba’s throat tightened. She looked down at their entwined fingers, then back at Galinda—bright and golden and impossibly sincere—and something in her chest shifted. Something that had been shut tight for far too long.
There was a flicker of disbelief in her eyes. The flicker of a dream she’d buried long ago.
She didn’t push it away.
She let it grow.
Everyone was leaving for the summer, the air thick with goodbyes and the rustle of suitcases being hauled onto carriages. Laughter echoed from the steps of Shiz, but at the dock where the boats waited, the mood was gentler—quieter. The water lapped softly against the posts, and a gull cried out overhead as if marking the moment.
Fiyero stood there with his hands stuffed in his pockets, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot beside the girls. The breeze played with the collar of his shirt and tugged at the edges of his silence until he finally spoke.
“I’m sorry I kept Galinda’s illness a secret, Fae,” he said, voice low but earnest. He didn’t look directly at Elphaba, but the nickname slipped out like he’d been practicing it in his head for weeks.
Elphaba blinked, caught off guard. No one had ever called her that before.
Galinda blushed at the mention of it and waved a hand with a muttered, “Never mind.” But her voice was soft, not scolding, and her eyes were brighter than before—like she’d already forgiven him and didn’t need to say it out loud.
Elphaba’s gaze stayed on Fiyero for a moment longer. Then, she gave a small nod—not quite forgiveness, but something close.
“You did what you thought was right,” she said. “Just… maybe don’t do it again.”
Fiyero laughed under his breath, the sound half relief and half regret. He looked between the two of them, as if trying to memorize something before it changed forever. Then he took a slow step back toward his waiting boat.
“Take care of each other,” he added, glancing back with a crooked grin. “Not that you need me to tell you that.”
Galinda reached out and gave his arm a quick squeeze before letting go. “Have a good summer, Yero.”
“You too, Glin,” he said, the familiar nickname soft with affection, before casting one last look at Elphaba. “Fae.”
The sound of it settled into her like a stone tossed into still water—small, but rippling.
Then he turned and boarded the boat, shouldering his bag and taking a spot near the railing. As the vessel pulled away, he raised a hand in farewell.
Galinda and Elphaba stood on the dock, the sun warming their backs, the wind catching in their hair. The boat shrank into the distance, and the echoes of his goodbye drifted away like mist on the lake.
Elphaba let out a slow breath. Galinda slipped her hand into hers without a word.
Before they left, Elphaba made her way to the edge of campus where Nessarose was waiting, her hands folded neatly in her lap and her wheelchair turned to face the water. The breeze caught strands of her dark hair, and for once, she looked peaceful—content, like the weight she always carried had momentarily lifted.
“I just wanted to say goodbye,” Elphaba said softly as she approached, her boots crunching gently over the gravel path.
Nessarose looked up, a warm smile already forming. “You’re really going,” she said, with a tone that held no sadness, only quiet wonder.
Elphaba nodded, her throat catching as a dozen unspoken things swirled inside her chest.
“I’m happy for you,” Nessarose said, her voice steady but gentle. “Truly. You’ve found someone who loves you.” She paused, her eyes misting over just slightly. “Someone who sees you. I don’t think Father ever really did.”
The words hit Elphaba harder than she expected. Her heart ached—not for the old wounds they referenced, but for the rare, open truth of them.
“You deserve this,” Nessa continued, her voice barely above a whisper now. “A place to go. Someone to be with. I’m glad you have that now. You’ve carried so much for so long.”
There was no bitterness in her tone. Only pride. Only love.
Elphaba stepped closer and knelt beside her sister, reaching out to take her hand in both of hers. The gesture felt like a bridge, like something being rebuilt.
“I’ll write to you,” Elphaba promised, her voice hoarse.
“You’d better,” Nessa replied, a teasing smile tugging at her lips despite the tears gathering in her eyes.
They sat there like that for a long moment—just the two of them, surrounded by the hush of wind through the trees and the lapping of the lake. For once, there were no expectations, no sharp words or old resentments between them. Just sisters. Just peace.
Then Elphaba gave her hand one last squeeze and stood, her shadow stretching long in the sunlight.
“Goodbye, Nessa.”
“Goodbye, Elphaba.”
And as Elphaba turned and walked away, she felt something shift inside her. Not like she was leaving something behind—but like she was finally stepping toward something real. Toward a future that was hers.
Then the green train—yes, green—pulled into the station with a loud hiss and a rumble that shook the platform. Steam curled into the air like fingers beckoning them forward, and the metallic shine of the cars caught the morning light just right. It looked almost enchanted, as if the Emerald City itself had sent it.
Galinda clutched Elphaba’s hand, her grip tight with excitement and nerves. “This is it,” she whispered, her voice nearly drowned by the sound of whistles and shuffling passengers.
Elphaba gave a quiet nod, her eyes on the bold emerald lettering gleaming across the side of the engine. She almost smiled. Of course it would be green. It felt like a sign. Like something had finally been made just for her.
They hesitated at the edge of the platform, hearts racing, as students and families bustled around them with luggage and laughter. Galinda’s suitcase knocked against her knee, and Elphaba’s coat flared in the breeze, but neither moved—not until their fingers intertwined even tighter.
“Together?” Galinda asked, glancing sideways.
Elphaba looked at her—really looked—and said, “Always, my sweet.”
Then, without another word, they stepped forward—Galinda hopping lightly onto the first step, Elphaba following close behind.
The conductor tipped his hat as they boarded, as though he already knew who they were and where they were going. And just like that, the doors slid shut behind them with a soft click. The platform disappeared behind thick glass and steam.
The train gave a long, low whistle. Wheels creaked into motion. The world outside began to blur.
Inside, the compartment was quiet. Cozy. Their suitcases slid into place above them, forgotten almost instantly. Galinda sat by the window, pulling Elphaba beside her. She pressed her cheek to Elphaba’s shoulder and sighed—a sound full of peace, full of promise.
Elphaba stared out the window for a moment longer, watching as Shiz faded into the distance. She didn’t wave. She didn’t need to.
The countryside rolled past them in waves of green and gold. Fields blooming with poppies and wildflowers flashed by, followed by quiet streams and clusters of trees bowing in the wind. The rhythm of the train was steady, soothing, and soon their breaths began to fall in sync with its tempo. The sound of wheels on tracks became a lullaby.
Galinda dozed with her hand still loosely tangled in Elphaba’s. Elphaba didn’t move, didn’t speak. She simply let the silence be soft for once, let herself believe—for just a little while longer—that they were allowed this.
At one point, a vendor rolled past their compartment offering tea and sugared pastries. Elphaba declined with a polite shake of her head, but Galinda stirred awake just long enough to reach for a small lemon tart. She offered a bite to Elphaba, who surprised them both by taking it.
Outside, the horizon stretched ahead like a promise. The Emerald City was still far away, but its pull was steady, electric, like gravity drawing them toward something new. Something better.
They didn’t speak much on the journey. They didn’t need to. The air between them was full of things already said, of confessions made beneath trees and truths born from pain. Love had rooted itself in both of them, quiet and fierce. It pulsed between their clasped hands like a shared heartbeat, steady and real. There was no more need to fill silence with chatter—because this silence was safe, sacred. It was theirs.
Galinda leaned against Elphaba, her cheek resting lightly on the curve of her shoulder, where the scent of moss and magic still lingered. Her lashes fluttered, her body still sore but carried now by something softer than adrenaline, stronger than pain. Elphaba, in turn, remained still but present, her thumb drawing small circles against Galinda’s knuckles, as if grounding them both in this moment—this beginning.
Outside the window, the world blurred past in a mosaic of greens and golds, dotted with distant rooftops and endless sky. Villages and valleys came and went, unnoticed. The rhythm of the train echoed like a lullaby, carrying them farther and farther from what had been, toward whatever waited next.
Their future was unwritten, uncertain—but for once, that didn’t frighten them. Because they were moving forward not alone, but together. And in the quiet warmth of that truth, everything else could wait.
As the sun climbed higher in the sky, the green train sped on.
And for the first time in a long time, neither of them looked back.