Breaking Down in a Lidl Parking Lot

It was Monday evening. After driving what felt like a couple of hours from Namur, missing some turns and exits, night descended on us, and so did the rain. Ah, Brussels.

By this point, I was exhausted. We’d been on the move a lot, something I wasn’t used to. Looking back, I enjoyed it—each detour and missed turn, every unplanned adventure. It was a break from the usual routine. But if I had to do it all the time, I’d go crazy; I’m not much of a nomad, I think.

After setting our bags down and freshening up, we were off to grab dinner supplies for the evening and breakfast for the next morning. It might sound like we were roughing it for the night, but we were staying in a hotel on Brussels’s outskirts, close to the airport, with the nearest grocery store a good 20-minute drive away.

I pulled on a sweater and walked toward the car’s passenger side—an adjustment I still hadn’t made after two weeks in Europe. Back home, the driver’s side is the passenger side.

Rachid entered the grocery store’s address on his phone, and we were off again. This side of Brussels was the Dutch side. I’m not up on all the nuances of Belgium’s Dutch and French regions, but the street names and signs in Dutch were clear. Our French GPS voiceover was hilariously struggling through the Dutch street names, sounding more like she was attempting to rap.

In the drizzle and dimly lit roads among the industrial buildings, Lidl shone like an oasis in a desert. I was mentally organising my week ahead—planning our drives, thinking of the friends I’d see one last time. We’d return to Lille the next day and then head to Paris by Thursday, which meant I’d be heading home on Sunday.

Then it hit me. I was heading home that same week.

The realisation settled heavily as I glanced at my watch and saw the date. My flight was on October 27. It was already the 21st. My heart twisted in my chest.

Rachid parked the car and announced, “Ready?”

Staring at a poster plastered on the side of what looked like a warehouse, I muttered, “I’m going home this week. I won’t see you for a while.”

I leaned back, shutting my eyes as the tears slipped out, a quiet release in the stillness of the car.

At this point in our relationship, we’ve spent more time together on-screen than in person. For a while, I thought that would dilute what we had, and make it feel unreal. But, if anything, it has intensified our connection. We’ve learned to be there for each other even when we’re miles apart, and that has built a foundation I’m grateful for.

It’s been a little over a year now—a feat considering the distance. Soon, we’ll close the gap for good, and I can’t wait for the everyday moments we’ll finally get to share.

We managed to get some pasta, tomato sauce, and a frozen fish dish to complement the pasta. It was a bland dinner, but I was grateful. We worked with what we could find to prevent wastage and had a warm dinner.

Surprisingly, the staff in that Lidl spoke French; a contrast to the Dutch announcements and signs in-store. It was my first time hearing "nonante" (as opposed to quatre-vingt-dix), like in the album by Angèle!

I can't wait to be back.