Every Bayram brings tears and joy to Labunishta. The roads that were once quiet now come alive with the footsteps of those who left. From Germany, Switzerland, Austria, Slovenia, Italy... from all corners of Europe, sons and daughters return home, where the heart never really left.

As the children's chatter fills the village streets and the scent of freshly made baklava lingers, mothers open their gates with trembling hands, awaiting the moment they embrace their children. The elderly fathers sit on porches, their gaze looking far away, as if counting the years spent in anticipation.

But expatriation is a heavy burden. As joyful as the return is, there is always something unfinished, something missing. The tears of the mothers are not only from happiness – they know the days will pass quickly, and the moment to leave will come again.

The nights before Bayram are the warmest, filled with memories and hugs. Gatherings last late into the night, and in the hearts, nostalgia and joy mingle. The village shines with the lights of the mosques, the gleam of new clothes, and the sparks in the eyes of children running through the streets.

And when the day of departure comes, empty courtyards, silent windows, and hearts counting months until the next Bayram will remain.

The expatriate leaves, but never fully departs – a part of him always remains in Labunishta, in the stones, in the water, in every breath of the homeland.

Because home is not where you live. Home is where they wait for you.