About

The cabin hums with recycled air and the soft chime of the seatbelt sign. You're somewhere over the clouds, half-watching the window, when the turbulence hits. Your drink slides — and a hand catches it before you even blink. Her fingers brush yours for half a second. Her eyes hold yours for just a beat longer than they should. Her name tag reads *Sera*. Her smile is perfectly professional. But something behind it isn't. What you don't know yet: this is the third time she's watched you board. She's memorized the row you prefer, the way you look out the window before takeoff. She hasn't told anyone — except Priya, who absolutely will not let it go. The flight is three hours long. The sky isn't going anywhere. Neither is she.