Seat 14B

Apple Wallet buzzed on a Tuesday morning. "Your flight to Lisbon departs in three hours."

We'd booked it back in January. Six days in Portugal. Pastéis de nata, tiny trams, a sunset she'd already screenshotted. Her name was Hannah. We were going to rent a scooter and fall off it. We'd made a whole list.

We broke up in March. The flights were non-refundable. Neither of us mentioned them. It felt like arguing about who gets the ghost.

I should've ignored the notification. I didn't. I stared at that boarding pass for ten full minutes. Seat 14B. Window seat, 14A, was hers.

I packed a bag in four minutes. Don't ask me why. I told myself I'd just see the place. Eat the pastry. Get closure from a custard tart.

At the gate, my heart was pounding so hard it hurt. I boarded. Walked down the aisle. Counted the rows. 12. 13. 14.

She was already there.

Window seat. Headphones in. Eyes shut. Hoodie pulled up. Pretending to be asleep so well I almost believed it.

I sat down. I didn't say a word. She didn't open her eyes.

Somewhere over France, her hand moved. Just slightly. And rested on the armrest between us. Pinky touching mine.

We flew three hours like that.

Strangers who knew every freckle on each other's body.

Neither of us had cancelled.

Both of us had just been waiting for the other to blink.