Ten Years

Chapter Four

Leïla fidgeted in her seat, clasping and unclasping the belt. The flight from Casablanca had just landed in Heathrow with more than a one-hour delay and now they were stuck here, on the runway, with the rain pouring down.

If they didn't start disembarking soon, she knew she would probably miss her connecting flight to San Francisco. And even if by some miracle – an oversized golf cart, a flying carpet – she made it to her second flight on time, she wasn't sure her luggage would. She shook her head and fought the urge to laugh at herself as she imagined herself on a flying carpet, hurtling through the crowded terminal above the weary travellers' heads.

A female voice over the PA system brought Leïla back to reality, "We are a few minutes late and there are twelve people with tight connections. Six are going to Delhi, five to Singapore and one to San Francisco. Please let these passengers off first. Again, if you are not going to Delhi, Singapore or San Francisco, please stay seated."

Leïla took a deep breath and stood in the aisle pulling out her backpack. She might not need a flying carpet after all.

* * * * *

Edward slumped low in his new seat and fastened his belt. He had offered his assigned seat to an older woman so she could be with her kid and husband – why they were not together in the first place was beyond his comprehension.  And now, here he was near the tail of the plane, in the middle seat he hated with all his being.

He would rather go on a blind date or get stuck in the London traffic on the M4 than sit in the middle seat. There was always a nosy seatmate peering over his shoulder or hogging the divider for dear life. Or both. Like the one sitting to his right in the aisle seat. A fifty-something anoraked man claiming the armrest and leaning with his body to peek through the not-so-close window.

If Edward knew he was trading his aisle seat nicely situated near the front for this, he wouldn't have accepted. He snorted to himself. Who was he kidding? Of course, he would've. His older sister always thought he was too nice for his own sake. All he could do now was sit there and hope the person who had the window seat wouldn't show up.

He cracked his knuckles and looked around. All the passengers seemed to have settled down. Maybe he wouldn't have to stay seated in the middle after all. 

A young twenty-something with a little halo of damp wild curls around her face moved up the aisle. She apologised when she passed the flight attendants closing the overhead bins. Red-faced, she scanned the rows looking for her seat and her smiling dark eyes settled on the row where Edward was sitting.

They locked eyes for a moment.

Edward remembered reading somewhere that eyes were windows to the soul. Something he wasn't a firm believer of. But right now, in that confined aircraft ready to take them across the pond, with the elbow of his seatmate poking into his side, he just couldn't look away.

He watched her as she continued to walk, balancing a tote bag and a backpack. He couldn't make the exact colour of her eyes from where he was sitting but to him, they sparkled with warmth and excitement and determination. It was ridiculous, Edward knew that – thank you very much. But at that very moment, as she stopped at his row, he found himself wishing she would claim the window seat next to him.

Leïla paused and looked at her boarding pass. She glanced at the number displayed on the overhead console then carefully placed her back bag above.

"Sorry, I need to get to my seat," she said, a trace of accent lingering in her voice.

The anoraked man sitting in the aisle seat, his lips a thin line of disapproval, turned his legs sideways while Edward got up so fast, he banged his head on the panel above him.  He stopped himself from cursing loudly.