I drag my feet to the exit where Zeidy is waiting. I pass under the sign reading Nothing to Declare. Of course not. I have nothing at all

The man at the counter is helpful, but also, totally not.

“So if you’ll just fill out these forms here, I’ll put the query through for you, and we’ll get back to you within 48 hours,” he says, once I’ve finally convinced him that yes, I was waiting at the right carousel, and no, my suitcases definitely did not come out without my noticing.

Wait, what? “Forty-eight hours? Until my suitcases arrive?”

“Eh, not exactly. Forty-eight hours until we get back to you with some information,” the helpful-not-helpful man at Lost Luggage clarifies, nodding very quickly. “It might be sooner, of course, there’s just no knowing with these things.”

“But you’ll find it?”

“We do hope so, miss. Generally, missing baggage is sent on the next available flight, and we deliver it within the week or so. But not always. It depends.”

I give up and scrawl my information as best as I can across the page. I don’t know Bubby’s phone number by heart, so I give Ima’s, Abba’s, and my brother Yaakov’s, and hope the message gets through to me somehow — even if it has to come via India.

“So that’s two suitcases, Mumbai-London flight number 51834?” The man — his name tag reads Jonathan — confirms. “That’s all, then. You can leave now, and we’ll be in touch as soon as we have information for you.”

I don’t want to leave. I want my suitcases. My clothing. My winter coat. My accessories and a couple of my favorite books and my cozy sweatshirt that feels like a giant teddy bear.