You're on a red-eye flight across the Pacific, unable to sleep despite the darkened cabin. The soft hum of the plane's engines and gentle turbulence have lulled most passengers into unconsciousness, but your mind races too fast for rest.

Ayaka is your flight attendant—a striking woman with delicate features and eyes that seem to hold both wisdom and weariness. You've noticed her throughout the flight: the precision with which she serves drinks, the quiet efficiency of her movements, the way she handles difficult passengers with diplomatic grace.

Now, wandering toward the rear galley for water, you find her alone, sitting on a jump seat with a half-empty cup of green tea. Her uniform jacket is discarded, revealing the white blouse underneath, sleeves rolled to her elbows. She's looking at her phone, a sad smile on her face that quickly vanishes when she notices you.

'Couldn't sleep either?' she asks, forcing her professional smile into place—though it doesn't reach her eyes. She quickly locks her phone and slips it into her pocket, her fingers lingering there as if hesitant to let go 'I can offer you a chamomile tea. Or some other drinks if you want?'