Chapter 4 Juice, Jitters, and Jawlines POV: Naila (First Person)

My heart was sprinting as the taxi pulled up to the airport terminal. I wiped my palms on my jeans, trying not to freak out before I even checked in. My scarf refused to stay in place-every time I adjusted it, another piece of hair popped free like it was rebelling against adulthood.

Three suitcases. One carry-on.

One thermos of homemade tropical juice-mango, pineapple, and ginger. I'd blended it myself that morning as a goodbye gift to my taste buds. A piece of home in a bottle.

I stepped out of the car, and the weight of it all hit me.

This was it.

I turned to face my mom. Her eyes were glossy, her smile stretched tight with love and worry. She pulled me into a hug that made time stop.

"Go set the world on fire," she whispered against my shoulder.

I squeezed her tighter. "I'll try not to burn the kitchen first."

We both laughed through the tears. She cupped my face in her hands and nodded once, that silent blessing only a mother could give. Then I turned, took a breath, and walked into the sliding doors of the international terminal.

Half terrified.

Half thrilled.

Everything went smoothly at first-check-in, security, even my overly suspicious thermos got through.

Too smoothly.

I should've known.

I was so distracted, duh it was my first time flying or even getting to see an airport my eyes were literally everywhere, would I say the flashing gate number on the overhead screen. The huge computer on each check post,

As I turned back to see more features of the airport all of a sudden,

Thud.

Splash.

My shoulder hit something-or rather, someone-and the cap on my thermos popped off with perfect comedic timing. A wave of golden-orange juice splashed onto a black shirt. Not just any black shirt. A designer black shirt worn by a very tall, very sculpted man with the expression of a war general and the posture to match.

I gasped. "Oh my gosh-I'm so-"

He stepped back, jaw tightening. His voice was low and flat.

"Seriously?"

"I didn't see you-"

"Well clearly. Do you just run into people and baptize them in fruit?"people like you shouldn't get to even step on the entrance of an airport.

My jaw dropped. "It was an accident. And maybe if you weren't standing there like a statue-"

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me," I muttered, hoisting my carry-on like it was a shield. "You're too grumpy for someone who probably gets paid to breathe."

His brows twitched like he wasn't sure whether to yell or laugh.

I turned before he could do either. My heart pounded. My cheeks were fire.

Great job, Naila.

First international trip, and you've already thought a stranger a grumpy one at that a lesson.

I reached the boarding counter and handed over my passport, bracing for fate to strike again.

The attendant scanned it, smiled brightly, and said, "First class. Right this way, Miss Sade."

"...First what now?"

"First class," she repeated, already tagging my luggage with a sleek black and gold priority label.

I blinked. "Oh my God... Thank you, Kiki."

I practically floated onto the plane, high on disbelief and velvet carpet. The cabin looked like a luxury spa on wings-spacious leather seats, glowing lights, little hot towels rolled like pastries on silver trays. This wasn't travel. This was reincarnation.

I found my seat. Window-side. Perfect.

And then-

Of course.

Him.

Same black shirt-now slightly damp. Same jawline carved from irritation. Same brooding stare. His eyes locked onto me. Then they dropped to the seat beside mine.

"You have got to be kidding me," he muttered.

I didn't flinch. "Don't worry. I am not with any more liquid.I said

He didn't respond. Just slid into his seat, stiff as a board.

As the plane taxied down the runway, I tried not to spiral. My fingers trembled slightly against the armrest. The cabin pressure hadn't even changed, but I could feel the panic rising in my chest.

This was real.

This was happening.

I was actually leaving the country-for a job I barely believed was mine-and flying across the world into the unknown.

The engine roared louder.

I inhaled sharply. My breath caught. My nails dug into the cushion.

And then-before my brain could intervene-

My hand shot out and grabbed his arm.

Hard.

He flinched, startled. Looked down at where my fingers clutched his bicep. Then looked at me.

"What are you doing? Let go of my arm" he asked, voice tight.

My eyes were wide. "I-I just... Its my first time flying, okay?"

He stared at me for a beat too long. I expected sarcasm. A lecture. Maybe another comment about me not fitting in.

But instead, he leaned back in his seat, exhaled, and muttered, "... Let go when you're done."

I didn't answer.

And he didn't pull away.

He just let me hold on.

I didn't look at him again, but I felt the warmth of his arm beneath my palm, solid and steady. And somehow, that quiet act-that angry stranger letting me borrow his calm-meant more than he probably knew.

Eventually, I fell asleep.

And when I woke up, he wasn't there.

His seat was empty.

No note. No look. No word.

Weird, I thought.

But I didn't know then...

That was just the beginning.

Weird had a whole new meaning waiting for me.

And it started the second I landed.