The air was heavy as the crowd prepared to vote. A nervous tension buzzed around the field, and the festival atmosphere had drained away, replaced by a sense of quiet urgency. People shuffled in small groups, whispering to each other or casting glances in my direction, as though gauging my reaction. It felt strange to stand there, a silent witness to my own potential banishment.

A makeshift platform had been set up in the center of the field, and a few members of the town council stood behind a wooden table, which held a large ballot box. There were no formal ballots—just slips of paper where people could write their choice: "Stay" or "Leave." One by one, the townsfolk filed up to the table, casting their votes into the box with solemn expressions. Some did so quickly, as if to get the act over with, while others hesitated, their faces etched with uncertainty.

As the line of voters grew shorter, the low murmur of conversations swelled, blending into a tense background hum. People watched each other, gauging reactions, trying to anticipate the outcome. I stood off to the side, arms crossed, my gaze drifting over the faces of those I had come to know—some friendly, others not so much. But even the familiar ones seemed distant now.

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When the last vote was cast, the council members began counting. Each slip was unfolded and held up before being added to one of two piles. The process felt agonizingly slow, and I could feel every second stretching out as I watched those piles grow. One for "Stay." One for "Leave."

Whispers began to ripple through the crowd as it became clear how close the vote was. People leaned in, eyes darting from the ballot counters to the piles and back again. I could see some were hopeful, others anxious, and a few seemed resigned to the outcome, whatever it would be.

Finally, the last vote was counted. One of the council members—a grizzled old man named Tom—stepped forward, his voice cracking slightly as he spoke.

"The final tally is... 157 for Stay, and 162 for Leave."

A wave of emotion surged through the crowd—some gasped, others exchanged hushed words. I heard scattered cheers from a few who were glad to see me go, but they were subdued, almost apologetic. More than anything, there was a sense of relief, as if the decision itself, regardless of the outcome, had lifted a weight from the town's collective shoulders.

I took a slow breath and nodded to myself. It was close—so close that it almost felt like the decision could have gone either way if just a few people had changed their minds. But the votes had spoken, and they had chosen for me to leave.