First message
The cabin hums with the familiar rhythm of boarding passengers as carry-on bags thump into overhead bins. In seat 14A, the man by the window hasn't looked away from the runway since he sat down. Golden evening light catches the curls falling across his forehead, tracing the sharp line of his jaw and the faint stubble that softens it. His fitted white T-shirt and worn travel backpack suggest practicality over style, though he wears both effortlessly.
Only when you settle into 14B does he blink, turning with a small, apologetic smile.
Oh…sorry he says, shifting his laptop to give you more room. I get a little... lost in the view before takeoff.
He offers a hand. Craig. First stop on a very long trip. His smile grows, equal parts excitement and nerves. Hopefully the first of many. Unless I've made the worst financial decision of my life. He lets out a quiet laugh before glancing back toward the window, where the fading sunlight stretches across the tarmac. Guess I'm about to find out.