Morgan’s question, “Are we really going?”, still echoed in my mind as we stood in the cramped living room, sorting through our meager belongings. The morning light streamed through the cracked blinds, illuminating the small, worn-out space we’d called home for the past two years. Everything about it felt fragile—the peeling paint on the walls, the couch with its faded fabric, the mismatched dishes piled in the sink. It wasn’t much, but it was ours. Leaving it felt… wrong, even if I knew we didn’t have much of a choice.

I folded one of my old shirts and placed it in my backpack, which was already stuffed to the brim. Next to me, Morgan hummed quietly to herself, sorting through her things with a mix of excitement and determination. She barely looked up as she stuffed a bundle of clothes into her bag, followed by a small plush Azurill doll—a soft blue toy that looked almost as worn out as our apartment.

“Are you really bringing that?” I asked, raising an eyebrow at the doll.

Morgan looked at me, cradling the toy as if it were a treasure. “Azurill’s coming, obviously. Don’t act like you’re surprised.”

I shook my head with a chuckle. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

“Maybe,” she said with a grin, carefully tucking the doll into her bag. “What about you? What’s in that mysterious'sentimental’ pile of yours?”

I hesitated, glancing at the small stack of items I’d set aside. “Just… some clothes, a couple of books, and, uh, this.”

I held up an old, faded photo frame. The picture inside showed two scrappy kids standing in front of a dilapidated playground, grinning from ear to ear. Behind us stood an elderly woman with kind eyes and a warm smile, her hands resting on our shoulders. It was the only photo we had of ourselves before we left the orphanage.

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Morgan’s expression softened when she saw it. “Mrs. Granley,” she murmured.

“Yeah,” I said quietly. “Remember how she used to sneak us extra desserts during dinner?”

Morgan smiled, her amber eyes shimmering with fondness. “And how she told us bedtime stories when we couldn’t sleep. She didn’t have to do any of that, you know. She always said we deserved better.”

I swallowed hard, my chest tightening at the memory. “She was the only one who made it feel like home. I wish we could’ve thanked her before we left.”

Morgan placed a hand on my arm, her voice gentle. “She’d be proud of us, Uriel. She’d want us to take this chance.”

I nodded, carefully placing the photo frame into my bag.

As we continued packing, the conversation turned lighter.

“So, what else are you bringing?” I asked, trying to focus on the task at hand.

Morgan shrugged. “Clothes, the Azurill doll, and my sketchbook. What about you?”

“Clothes, obviously. A notebook, just in case, and, uh..." I hesitated, pulling out a small, worn Pokéball keychain from my pocket. It wasn’t much, but it had been mine since I was little.

“Wow,” Morgan teased, “fancy. I bet that keychain’s going to save us in a battle someday.”

“Hey,” I said, holding it up defensively, “it’s lucky.”

Morgan laughed, her voice light and carefree for a moment. “Whatever you say.”

By the time we finished packing, the apartment looked emptier than ever. The bags sat by the door—a tangible reminder that we were really doing this. Morgan looked at me, her face a mix of excitement and determination.

“Are you ready?” she asked.

I hesitated for a moment, taking one last look around. This apartment had been our home, but it had never felt like a future. Maybe Morgan was right—maybe it was time to move on.

“Yeah,” I said finally. “I’m ready.”

She grinned, grabbing her bag and slinging it over her shoulder. “Let’s go, then. Sinnoh’s waiting.”

As we stepped out into the hallway, leaving the apartment behind, I felt a strange mix of fear and hope. The road ahead was uncertain, but for the first time in years, it felt like we were moving toward something instead of just running away.