How I learned to say goodbye in Goa
Chapter 13: On fixing things and being broken
This is chapter 13 of Love at First Flight, my memoir about finding connection while travelling solo around the world.
If you're new here, I'm in Palolem, Goa, it’s 2013, and a chance encounter had just led to a brief, beautiful adventure that made me question everything I thought my trip was about.
Join me there in India, where I discover saying goodbye on the road isn’t always easy.
Golden afternoon sunlight flooded in as I unbolted my door to find Arjun standing there.
Inviting him into my room, I showed him photos I'd taken on my solo trip to the neighbouring beach here in Goa. I also mentioned my battle with the wild spray of my shower.
Just as he had with my sunglasses the day before, he said simply:
"I can mend it."
His hands worked the rusty fixture, steady and sure, until the water jet pointed in the right direction.
A wave of relief washed over me and I thanked him profusely. Finally, I'd be able to have a proper shower.
This was the real intimacy I'd missed. Not just physical touch, but these little daily kindnesses. Having someone around who was happy to fix things to make my life better.
Then the panic hit, landing in my stomach.
My body clenched as it remembered this dependence. Alarm bells rang in my mind, warning against letting someone in to smooth out life's rough edges.
I glanced up at the knots of electrical wires feeding into the overloaded socket above my bed, the warmth of being cared for wrestling with my desire for independence.
Before I could even begin to untangle my emotions, Arjun told me he planned to move on tomorrow. Going to another part of Goa, he wouldn't be my neighbour any more.
We were both travelling after all. Of course it would come to an end sooner or later.
Truth in the waves
That morning, we'd kissed in the sea beyond Palolem beach, like we had in Agonda the day before.
The gentle waves were warm, caressing, familiar. Just when I was sinking into the moment, he pulled away. Not looking at me, he said:
"I just broke up with my girlfriend. It’s been rough."
The words hung between us, carried by the salty breeze. Maybe he was even more heartbroken than I was.
While we walked out of the water, he asked:
“What about you - been in a relationship recently?"
All this time we'd spent together, we'd blissfully ignored these important questions.
It had felt like a daydream. Now things were getting real.
I told him about my break-up and how, now I was on my solo round-the-world trip, having a boyfriend was the last thing on my mind. The words felt rehearsed, this story I'd been telling myself.
After yesterday's carefree joy in Goa, we'd broken the spell. Our shared sadness spilled over. He turned to me:
"Would you like to go on one last motorcycle ride?"
I smiled and accepted. It seemed a fitting way to say goodbye.
Ghosts in the hotel
That afternoon, on our final adventure together, we stumbled upon an enormous five-star resort.
Its marble pillars and pristine gardens stood out among the area's humble guesthouses and rustic beach bars. We swung our legs off the bike to explore.
The hotel’s gates opened onto a private beach. Inside, we saw no guests, only staff members methodically sanitising surfaces and dispensing anti-mosquito spray.
A swimming pool lay still and empty, as sprinklers whirred across manicured lawns, fighting against the heatwave.
Something about the scene tugged at my memory - the curve of the pool, the ochre tiles - like I’d seen it before in a photo or a dream.
I froze. This was the place.
Years ago, my ex had suggested a two-week stay here. I'd told him if we were coming to Goa, I'd rather sleep in a beach shack. More authentic that way. We'd never found a compromise, never made it here at all.
Standing here now by the artificially green grass, while the sea's waves crashed beyond the gates, I knew I'd made the right decision. I'd finally come to Goa and was experiencing it exactly as I'd hoped for. Dodgy shower and all.
On our way back, in the darkness of night, I wrapped my arms around Arjun one last time.
Outside our guesthouse, we kissed goodnight. And goodbye. Returning to our separate doors.
Reflections at sunrise
After laying awake half the night, I walked to the beach to watch the dawn.
Sitting on the cool sand at the edge of the sea, I couldn't stop my tears, as the first orange rays of sunlight peeked over the horizon.
I cried because I would miss Arjun. Cried because the last couple of days had reignited a spark of passion and lost intimacy. Cried for all I was learning about myself out here alone, thousands of miles from home.
Three years of post-breakup numbness had begun to ebb away. My body was remembering how to feel – desire, fear, joy, grief – all of it flowing now, like the waves washing over my feet.
I was opening up, not just to my strengths but to my vulnerabilities. To my intuition and what it means to be human.
Some things couldn't be fixed, only felt. And that was okay.
Returning to the guesthouse for breakfast, I found Arjun loading his belongings onto his bike.
We parted in the crisp morning light, exchanging polite words and vague promises we never meant to keep.
I watched him speed away towards his next adventure, sure this meant me returning to solitude.
But the door I'd locked tight had creaked open and it wouldn't close again.
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✨ Next up: find out what happens when a familiar face unexpectedly shows up at Palolem Beach.
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Just as expected, this is so beautifully written, Claire! I can't wait to read your next chapter!
Beautiful ❤️ It sounds like you and Arjun were meant to meet to help each other heal. And it's so cool that you actually ended up at that retreat, but having had the Goa trip you had always wanted. I love those little winks.