[This section was numbered 15 in the original
text.] Life went back to normal. The sting of
L
divorce faded with time. I didn’t see Mark on
any of my flights for three months. He’d done
it on purpose, hadn’t he? To embarrass me,
to push me away. But all things end. I was
moving on. We were once husband and wife,
but now we were strangers, and that was
okay. The next time we met, if we ever did, it
would be as strangers.
At the end of the fourth month, Mark showed
up on my flight again. This time, he was
alone. I still hadn’t been promoted to first
class, but I saw him as I passed through the
front cabin to retrieve some supplies. He kept
his head down the whole time. I hurried past.
Suddenly, Captain Chris, who was resting in
the last row of first class, stepped out and
blocked my path. “Dinner after work?” he
asked. His sudden appearance startled me. “I
need to study regulations for my upcoming
exam,” I declined. “Dinner won’t take long,”
<
he persisted. “No, really…” “It’s settled then.
I’ll even share some study tips, guaranteed to
make it easier.” Chris winked, walked past,
then looked back. “See you later. Gotta go
switch shifts.” My colleagues giggled, and I
felt my cheeks flush. I quickly ducked behind
the curtain and returned to the economy
cabin. “A coffee, please,” a familiar voice
requested. “Certainly, sir,” my colleague
replied. I heard Mark’s brief exchange with
her from behind the curtain.
Two hours later, we landed. As the last
passengers disembarked, a colleague joined
me to check the overhead bins. “So?” she
asked. “So, what?” “Don’t play coy. The
captain’s totally into you. You gonna say no?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” I retorted. “Still denying
it? What, not good enough for you?” “Don’t
be too picky. The girls at United were
practically throwing themselves at him. He’s
the youngest single captain, a real catch.”
“Talking about me?” Chris appeared beside
- us. “Here to whisk Sarah away to dinner?
Eager, aren’t we?” “Excuse me,” my
colleague mumbled, stepping aside. I froze.
Mark hadn’t left yet. He was just coming out
of the restroom. “Thank you for flying with us,
sir. We hope you enjoyed your flight,” my
colleague greeted him, recognizing the first-
class passenger. I stood speechless. He
glanced at me as he passed. I looked down,
remembering the rule about not making
prolonged eye contact with passengers.
“Have a good day, sir,” Chris nodded to Mark,
then turned to me. “Ready? Where do you
want to eat?”
Chris had already made a reservation at a
fancy steakhouse downtown and called a cab.
My colleagues teased me as I climbed into
the taxi. Chris was funny and charming,
reminding me of the popular guys in college.
Midway through dinner, he nudged my head
playfully. “What’s wrong? Not impressed?”
“No, it’s not that,” I mumbled, taking a sip of
wine, feeling guilty. “Broken heart?” “Don’t
pry.” He shrugged. “Guess I hit a nerve. Well,
my shoulder’s available if you need it.” I
rested my chin in my hand, listening to the
live violinist, avoiding his gaze. In the elevator,
the city lights twinkled outside the glass
walls. Chris took my hand. “Sarah,” he said
softly, “Give me a chance. Okay?” I pulled my
hand away and looked up at him. “What is it,
silly?” He leaned closer, our lips almost
touching. He wore a plain white T–shirt, his
skin flawless. He exuded a boyish charm. I
turned away, my body suddenly hot. The
elevator seemed to slow down, prolonging the
awkward moment. He stepped closer again,
lining up beside me. “Did I scare you, silly?” I
turned, slightly annoyed. “Why am I silly?” He
traced the bridge of my nose, leaning in
again. “You’re not silly. But you know ‘silly‘
can have other meanings, right?” The elevator
doors opened, and people stepped in. I
hurried out. Later that night, he texted me:
“Three out of the next six days – lucky me!” I
was confused. “What do you mean?” He sent
a screenshot of our flight schedules. “Look!
We’re on the same flights three times.” “Silly
girl, you have no idea how excited I get when
you’re on my flights.” “Goodnight, Sarah.”
The airline was shooting a new promotional
magazine, and I was chosen as the face of
the campaign. I hadn’t thought much about it
initially, just followed the instructions and
prepared as directed. But when I arrived at
く
the studio, I realized it was owned by Mark’s
company. The studio name didn’t include his
company’s name, so I hadn’t made the
connection. “Ms. Lane, everything alright?”
the makeup artist asked, sensing my unease.
“Fine,” I lied, trying to compose myself. It was
just a small subsidiary, I told myself. I was
overthinking it. The photographer, a young
man, approached. “Ms. Lane, have you
reviewed the pre–shoot guidelines I sent?”
“Yes, I have,” I assured him. I had received
the materials a week earlier. Once everything
was set, the lights flashed, and I stepped into
the center of the set. “Ms. Lane, relax your
shoulders a bit,” the photographer instructed.
“Good.” The poses were similar to what we
practiced during training, so I managed them
easily with minimal guidance. But then,
midway through the shoot, Mark arrived. My
body tensed. “
