I thought I was just being kind, swapping seats. But when the co-pilot and a flight attendant woke me, holding a mysterious bag found under my new seat, my stomach dropped. What had I just walked into?
Moments later, I was being escorted off the plane—accused of something I didn’t do.
I stood near the departure gate, shifting my weight from one foot to the other as the automated voice echoed through the terminal, announcing upcoming flights.
My suitcase rested beside me, the handle slightly worn from too much travel.
Hannah stood with her arms crossed, her expression a mix of curiosity and disapproval. She had opinions, as always.
“I still don’t get why you bought such an expensive ticket,” she said, shaking her head.
“You could’ve flown next week for half the price.”
I sighed, adjusting the strap of my purse. “Because I haven’t seen Adam in three months,” I said simply.
“Work has kept me away, and he misses me.”
Hannah scoffed, tossing her hair over her shoulder.
“Ugh, love,” she teased, rolling her eyes. “Must be nice.”
I laughed, nudging her playfully.
“One day, you’ll find it too,” I said.
“You just have to stop chasing it.”
She raised an eyebrow. “And how exactly does one stop chasing love?”
I smiled, leaning against my suitcase.
“Love is like a butterfly—you don’t catch it.
You create a beautiful garden, and it comes to you.”
She snorted. “Yeah, well, my garden must be full of weeds because no butterflies are showing up.”
I chuckled, but before I could respond, the loudspeaker crackled to life.
“Flight 268 is now boarding.”
My stomach flipped with excitement. I was going home.
We grabbed our bags and walked toward the gate.
The line moved quickly, and soon, we were inside the plane, finding our seats in the middle row.
As I settled in, I exhaled deeply, already picturing Adam’s arms around me when I landed. Three months had felt like a lifetime.
The distance, the late-night calls, the quiet ache in my chest when I missed him—it was all about to end.
Then a voice interrupted my thoughts.
“Excuse me, miss?”
I looked up to see a man standing in the aisle.
He was in his late forties, with tired eyes and a polite but slightly nervous expression. He gestured to the seat beside me.
“My daughter’s sitting here,” he said. “Would you mind switching seats so I can be next to her?”
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