Anya:

  I’ve been travelling a lot these days—no, more like years. At least it feels that way. But no matter how far or fast I run, I can’t shake off my permanent state of misery. As soon as one plane lands, I feel the need to board another. And yet, even sitting here in business class, my mind’s still whirring, my heart’s racing, and I can’t seem to catch my breath.

  Why is running away not working?

  No matter how hard I try, I can’t leave my past behind. It haunts me, and I don’t know how much longer I can live like this—being so constantly miserable. The thought that my heart is going to hurt forever at the loss I’ve endured, that I might never be happy, is the thing that disturbs me most.

  What wouldn’t I give to trade places with someone carefree, someone who can forget everything they once knew and loved? Or what wouldn’t I give to just turn back time—turn it all the way back before...

  My tears run unchecked as I think back to a year ago. To the day my life and future changed. The day the man I fell in love with left me…

  Lucas was my world. My whole life revolved around him. Our future together seemed full of promise. I thought we’d get married, start a family, and, you know… grow old together. How could I have been so na?ve? It’s clear to me now that he was never as invested as I was, never loved me as much as I loved him. And I really did love him. He had my whole heart. How could I have been so clueless, such a puppet, such a pathetic robot? I was suppose be family to him in more ways then one on that day… that very special day.

  I’m so tired of the memories, but they keep flooding back, and I’m just… exhausted.

  The hum of the plane, and maybe that sedative I recently took, are lulling me to sleep. I close my eyes, and I’m only too happy to escape into a benzodiazepine-induced dream. If only I could disappear into dreamland forever. That way I wouldn’t have to deal with such debilitating anxiety or this constant turbulence in my mind—it’s almost as turbulent as this flight.

  I’m roused from the light doze I’d succumbed to because something’s off. My stomach flips as the plane drops altitude again and panic rises in my throat. I realize the oxygen masks must have fallen from their compartments and my headphones have been muffling the screams of the other passengers.

  The scene I’ve woken to is chaotic. And I have to wonder, Are we going to crash? Oh god. This can’t be happening.

  I grab the arm of my seat but miss and my hand grips something else. I’ve accidentally laid hold of the man sitting next to me. He’s a blur behind my sunglasses—why I decided to keep them on I don’t know—but he takes my hand into his before looking at me and murmuring something I can’t catch. The plane continues to vibrate violently as the overhead compartments open and luggage begins to rain down into the aisle.

  Then, very suddenly, the turbulence stops.

  My breathing is still erratic, though, and my brain is foggy. I feel the man trying to shake me properly awake. With my eyes covered by sunglasses and my mouth and nose covered by a mask, he can’t see much of my face, but he seems to sense something’s wrong. That’s when I take off my sunglasses and look down at my hand in his.

  “Oh god! I’m so sorry,” I say, quickly releasing him from my grip.

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  “It’s fine. Are you OK?” he asks as I rip my bulky headphones from my head. His voice is deep, calm, and clear and soothes even my overwrought brain.

  Now that I can see him properly, he’s handsome enough to make my heart flutter just at the sight of him. He’s got the kind of looks you’d see in those Korean dramas my mom used to watch. You know the kind—clean-shaven, chiseled jawline, and a body to die for—the complete package all wrapped up in a tailor-made suit. His eyes are fierce and searching, and they’re locked on me. He’s waiting for me to respond but I’m suddenly speechless.

  “Oh, yeah, I just… I—” I catch myself stumbling over words and go silent.

  I can’t help wanting to impress this man and I’ve been told my habit of babbling is my least attractive trait. Heat rises to my cheeks, so to divert myself from the embarrassment, I take in the cabin around us. To my utter amazement, everything seems normal. No oxygen masks have dropped. No luggage is strewn about.

  My mind is still groggy enough to wonder, Did I seriously just dream all of that? Or maybe I’m dreaming now. Or am I dead?

  “Didn’t we just hit turbulence?” I ask, confused.

  “Not exactly. You grabbed my hand and seemed to be having a panic attack,” he says, his voice soothing me. I can hear the slight East-Asian accent that adds a foreign flavour to his otherwise flawless American tones.

  “Is everything alright, doctor?” A flight attendant interrupts us from the aisle.

  “Everything’s fine,” he says before speaking to her in another language. She then nods to us, bows, and walks away.

  Doctor? How did she know he’s a doctor? Is he a regular on this flight?

  Before I can ask any of those questions, he turns back to me with a furrowed brow. “Are you sure you’re OK? Your breathing still seems a little fast.”

  I’m not sure what to say. I mean, I just woke up from a sleeping-pill-induced panic dream, so, no, I’m really not OK. But I feel calmed by his presence and from holding his hand, so…

  “I… I think so,” I say.

  He smiles and I’m struck by its warmth. His face brightens my mood instantly as his deep brown eyes twinkle with a suppressed chuckle.

  “Does that mean you’re OK? Or you’re still having a panic attack?”

  “Oh… Um… I’m… I’m OK. I just thought… I think I was having a nightmare.”

  I’m stumbling over my words yet again, and where did “a nightmare” come from? What am I, five years old? Could this be any more embarrassing?

  “I figured as much. Don’t worry, your eyes are more alert now, and look, we’re almost there,” he says, pointing out the window to the lush terrain of South Korea that’s laid out beneath us. “I know flying isn’t for everyone,” he adds.

  The flight attendant returns and reaches over to hand me a cup of water.

  “Here’s your water, Miss. We’ll be landing soon, so drink up quick,” she says with a tight smile.

  Suddenly I feel parched, and I take the water gratefully. When I pull my mask off to drink, I notice the man’s expression relax. After quickly gulping the cool liquid down and returning the empty cup to her, my thanks are interrupted by the captain’s announcement that we’re coming in to land.

  My panic flickers again. As much as it relieves me to know that we’ll be on the ground soon, I can never handle the descent. I don’t know why. I’ve flown so many times you’d think I’d be used to it by now, but I just hate landings.

  My neighbour notices my distress and says, “You can hold my hand again if it helps.” He lifts his open palm and nods to it. “It’s up to you.”

  I hesitate at his suggestion, looking into his eyes.

  Is it really okay? I wonder.

  He’s being so kind. Maybe this is the standard bedside manner for all doctors and he’s just treating me like all his other patients. But is the holding of hand normal? Probably.

  My hesitation lasts too long and his hand starts to close. At that point, though, the plane hits some more turbulence and, I automatically grab onto him for dear life again.

  “Don’t worry, I’ve got you,” he says with a comforting smile.

  I glance down at my hand locked into his and I take in his long masculine fingers that are now curled onto my palm. His touch is soft and warm, and when he gives my hand a gentle squeeze, I’m reassured that he has most definitely “got me”.

  Is this another dream? It has to be. A far better one than any I’ve been having for the past year. To have a man this gorgeous by my side seems too good to be true. And to have him touch me this tenderly…

  This can’t be real, can it?

  Maybe I am dead after all.

  Still, if this is what heaven looks like, that’s fine by me.

  ?Sky Mincharo