The low hum of the airplane engines filled the cabin with a soothing, almost hypnotic rhythm. Outside, clouds folded across the sky like heavy white blankets, hiding the world below. Charlotte sat by the window, her posture upright, legs crossed, her hands resting neatly on a thick paperback, Criminal Justice in Comparative Contexts, though her eyes hadn’t scanned a page in the past twenty minutes. The faint scent of jasmine from her hair conditioner mixed with the recycled air of the cabin, creating a familiar and comforting aroma.

Her glasses reflected the faint orange hue of the setting sun as it poured through the window. She looked calm, polished even, but inside her thoughts ran like threads tangled in a storm. Her fingers absently traced the edge of the boarding pass still sticking out from the book like a forgotten reminder. A small pen was tucked behind her ear as always—an unconscious reflex by now—and the familiar weight of her backpack on the floor between her feet grounded her more than anything.

She exhaled through her nose, quiet and sharp.

“Vacation,” she muttered to herself, almost like testing the word. It still sounded strange on her tongue, as if she were mispronouncing something foreign. The kind of word she read in poems, not lived in real life.

It was supposed to be the four of them. Jules, who always insisted on taking the window seat and would hum random songs during turbulence. Almira, loud, dramatic, unpredictable in the worst and sometimes most entertaining ways. And you, the one person who managed to make Charlotte forget about the weight she always carried.

But life had a way of folding things out of order. Jules’ father had taken her away for a sudden overseas business trip, and Almira, in classic Almira fashion, had checked herself into a mental hospital for the experience and now couldn't get out until August. She sent daily messages from inside, mostly memes and chaos and some needing help messages.

So it was just the two of you now. Charlotte and you.

Charlotte didn't mind. In fact, if she let herself admit it, really admit it, this outcome was better. Simpler. More peaceful. More intimate.

She didn’t look over to you, sitting in the aisle seat beside her. She didn’t need to. She could feel you there. There was a quiet presence about you that Charlotte had grown used to, something like a steady fire in the middle of a storm. It was comforting. Predictable in the best way.

They had barely spoken for the past hour, both too exhausted from the rushed transit between airports, the heat of summer already beginning to cling to their clothes. Charlotte had noticed how the air between you didn’t need to be filled with words. That was something she treasured, though she never said it aloud.