Cannes | H.S

Evermore

END OF DREAM

I gasp loudly, sitting up in my oddly uncomfortable seat that thousands of dollars couldn't find enough cushion for my behind, yet surprisingly gave me the opportunity to gain precious hours of sleep that I've been lacking over the past few days. I stretch my aching neck, providing some relief, but frustration for Alfonzo who sits quietly to my left. He continues to flip aimlessly through his magazine, a rather humored look resting upon his kind face.

"Surprised you finally decided to join the real world," he mumbles.

Stretching my back to the right, I groan out in complete and utter relief as the muscles crack, fueling Alfonzo's disapproval who despises this very habit. "How long have I been asleep?"

"Over fourteen hours. Breakfast came and went. I ate yours by the way, didn't want any good food to go to waste."

"Even my brownie?"

"Especially your brownie."

"Alfonzo..."

"Don't Alfonzo me, Layla James. I had to sit here and listen to you snore in my very ear for almost the entire flight."

I do not snore, I'll have you know."

"Sure sweetheart. Now what exactly kept you sound asleep? Were you really that tired?"

"I guess. Not sure what really came over me if I'm being honest."

With the flight coming to an unexpected end, I decide to sneak off to the restroom to freshen up and wash off the slumber from my face before we land. The media will be swarming the airport like wolves, desperately desiring their high dollar photographs. Hell, with this crazy hair and makeup smeared underneath my eyes, I look like a true sight. Not enough remover does the job justice, but it must suffice as I shut the door behind me, attempting to walk back to my seat. The rocky turbulence makes the task rather difficult and the glare the flight attendant provides from across the aisle is a clear indication that I shouldn't have gotten up from my seat in the first place. A slur of apologies escape my lips as I bump back and forth in the fight to make it back to my dedicated seat in one piece. And I'm almost there, if not for another unexpected dip which nearly knocks me to the ground. I would have taken the floor of the airplane any old day as I'm practically thrown in an odd angle, forcing me to trip over my feet at least twice. But before the grand finale, I'm ushered into a taken seat of a quiet stranger.

With enough momentum coming from the plane's turbulence, I land far from gracefully into his lap, pretty much coming face to face with his crouch. However, in the process, I managed to stumble into the very cup of iced coffee he was enjoying only mere moments ago. Now, that same drink is splattered all across his once crisply clean white shirt. Despite the rather personal lack of distance between us, I manage to position myself over his lap, hoping to get the impressive stains from his attire. In between my constant ring of apologies, I don't even realize that this very same man is actually laughing at the entire situation, allowing the sound to be heard around. The constant wiping with my bare hands across his shirt honestly makes it all worse, yet he brings my actions to a halt by placing his own hands over my own.

"Really love, it's okay," he answers quite cheekily, wearing a signature smirk across his face. "Can honestly say this has never happened to me before and I've seen some crazy shit," he jokes, only furthering my embarrassment.

But, through it all, a worldly amount of Deja Vu hits me rather painfully as I come eye to eye with this stranger. Oddly, he doesn't appear to be a stranger to me. Instead, the sea of dreams that I was lost in only minutes ago come rising to the surface as this very man was the source of it all. My heart instantly aches, breaks, and comes together all in a matter of seconds as he continues to look into my eyes with the same ones I adored for the past few hours. He must think I'm fucking insane as I continue to toy his lap, looking aimlessly into his eyes for an ounce of recognition. And for a moment there, I swear he recognizes, if only that could be humanely possible. Yet, call it magic, fate, or serendipity--looking into those sparkling green eyes, I fucking swear he knows who I am even though we have actually never met up until this very second. The rather stunned and funny English man opens his mouth so speak, but before a single word can be said, we're both interrupted by the flight attendant.