I shouldn't have gone to meet him that day.

I knew this job too well.   That was the problem.

---

1. Coffee on the Ground

I first saw Ji-woong, then a first officer, just before a briefing for the Narita route.

He was already in the briefing room, flipping through documents, and looked up. A nod. I nodded back. That was all. We both knew the cockpit and the cabin were separate worlds, so there was nothing at first.

We never ran into each other during flights. Normally, you don't. That side is the cockpit, I'm the cabin. Even if we're in the same aircraft for three hours, our worlds don't mix.

The second time was in a layover hotel lobby.

It was an LA route. I was waiting for the elevator after checking in, and he was standing behind me. This time, a light conversation started. You must be tired, yes, how many hours do you sleep, I don't know I'll probably just lie down. The elevator opened, and we were on different floors, so I got off first. That was the end.

The third time was during the same layover. We ran into each other in front of a convenience store near the hotel. He was holding two cans of coffee and held one out to me.

Here. Just happened to have one.

Because I knew this job well, I knew the weight of that coffee. The loneliness of a layover, the shallow bond formed in a strange city, the fatigue shared without words. That kind of coffee usually evaporates upon landing. Once we land at Incheon, we scatter to our respective lives, and on the next route, we go back to just nodding at each other.

Ji-woong was different.

He didn't lose touch even after returning home. If our schedules clashed, he waited; on days when the timing was right, we ate nearby. Quietly and diligently. He was a man who put in effort without making it obvious.

Calculating the time difference, messages would arrive just as I was waking up.

Sleep well? They say it'll snow today, dress warmly when you go out.

He had the same tone five minutes before a briefing. Not noisy, but never failing.

I knew how rare such a man was in this industry.

---

✈︎ The Day He Became Captain

I was by his side while he, as a first officer, prepared for his captaincy upgrade exam. I stayed awake during the same hours while he memorized checklists, and on the night before the exam, I held his hand without saying a word.

I knew what becoming a captain meant to him. To a pilot, it's not just a rank—it's a change in gravity.

On the day he became captain, he held my hand for a long time.

"You worked hard." "I wasn't the only one who worked hard."

I liked those words.

We got married that autumn. He didn't let go of my hand at the wedding hall. Except for when we were taking photos. Whenever the older relatives tried to take the bride away, he would smile and say just a moment while lightly pulling my wrist. It was cute, so I laughed many times.

---

✈︎ The Day I Quit

About three months after he became captain, he brought it up carefully.

"Isn't it time you quit?"

He was talking about the flight attendant job. I looked at him for a moment.

"Why?" "Because it's hard. I earn enough now. You suffer for days after coming back from a layover. I hate that."

He was a man who said he hated that my body was in pain. A person who didn't distinguish between worrying for me and asking for himself. A person for whom there was no need to distinguish.

"I'll think about it." "Take your time. It's not urgent. You can keep doing it if you want to."

Those words swayed me more. I realized then that a request from someone who doesn't force is the heaviest.

I thought about it for a long time. I didn't dislike being a flight attendant. However, knowing this industry so well, I felt it was stranger to keep flying while leaving a husband like this man behind. Just as I had waited for him until he became a captain, I thought it was okay for me to be the one receiving this time. That's what I thought.

I quit.

After that, he didn't change one bit. No, he became even more attentive. When he returned from a layover, he unpacked the suitcase himself. If I was in the kitchen, he'd wrap his arm around my shoulders once as he passed by. On days he came back from a flight, he showered first thing.

"In case the smell of the plane is lingering on me."

He said that and laughed.

I couldn't doubt such a husband.

No, it's more accurate to say I had no reason to doubt. Even if a floral scent seeped into his coat, even if unfamiliar initials popped up on his phone, I was a person who could explain it. The cabin is narrow. Scents transfer while moving out of the way in the galley. Flight attendants save numbers as initials. That's just how crew schedules look. — I knew this job too well.

Because I knew it too well, everything was explained. Because I knew it too well, I asked nothing.

I had no regrets. At least, for a while.

---

2. Three Signals

① The Scent

The first time I felt something was off was the scent. Inside his woody fragrance, a floral scent was faintly mixed in.

It must be one of the passengers.

It was explained. So I let it go.

② The Initials

The second was the caller on his vibrating phone. A single initial instead of a name.

A.

It's a common initial. I looked away.

③ The Words

The third was words. An evening after he returned from a layover, spoken casually while drying his hair.

"There's someone who works well on the same route lately. She's quiet but has sense. She's young but reads the flow well."

That was it. The topic moved on to the dinner menu.

Quiet but has sense.

I knew this job too well. The bond between a captain and a flight attendant, the intimacy created by a narrow space, and where the line is within that. And I also knew that Ji-woong was not a person to cross that line.

I knew. I wanted to know.

---

3. The Arrival Hall, a Half-Step Distance

While picking out ingredients for soybean paste stew at the market, it occurred to me. That I had never gone to meet him.

I didn't send a message. Half wanting to surprise him, half impulse.

The airport smell was the same. When I wore the uniform, I was inside that smell. Now I was the one smelling it.

In front of the arrival hall. I saw Ji-woong. A stride that didn't lose its center even in a strange space.

I was about to raise my hand— And stopped.

There was a flight attendant on his left. Black hair in an updo, pulling a suitcase half a step behind him. Not in front, not behind, an ambiguous distance to explain that they were together. It was exactly that distance.

Ji-woong said something, and she bowed her head slightly and smiled. I couldn't hear the sound.

It wasn't a smile given to a stranger. It was an expression that comes out in front of someone to whom you don't have to say everything.

I lowered my hand. I took half a step back behind a pillar.

Why did I hide? I didn't know. I just didn't want the me of today, holding ingredients for soybean paste stew, to be seen standing in front of those two.

The moment the automatic doors opened, he turned his head. His gaze swept through the air— And stopped.

Our eyes met.

0.5 seconds. His expression didn't change. His eyes blinked once. That was all.

He said something brief to her, and she went out through the automatic doors first.

Ji-woong walked toward me. Slowly, without losing his composure.