Emma's POV
The airport was a whirlwind of noise and motion—announcements crackling over the speakers, travelers scurrying past, suitcases in tow, and the faint scent of coffee and jet fuel wafting through the air. I stood by the check-in counter, the pounding of my heart a mix of excitement and anxiety beating in my chest. My small suitcase was stowed at my feet, packed to the brim with more hope than clothes, and my sketchbook safely tucked away in my carry-on, waiting to record everything Paris had to offer. Beside me stands Alex, a reassuring presence and the only one of us who knows how to navigate an airport. He carries his guitar case on one shoulder and a grin that feels like it could light up the entire terminal on his face. He glances at me, the wild thrill that races through me shining brightly in his eyes. "You ready for this, Emma?" I nodded, even though the thought of it terrified me. "As ready as I'll ever be." He chuckled and handed me my boarding pass. "First stop, Paris. Can you believe we're actually doing this?" " No, I can't," I whispered, brushing his hand with mine as I took the pass. It was almost dreamlike to me. Alex's gaze softened. He reached out to squeeze my hand. "It is, Emma. We're doing it." I smiled at him, the secret I kept pressing against my chest. No one knew but me. And I wasn't going to let fear steal this one from me. We made our way through security, a blur of trays and scanners, and then we were sat at the gate, waiting for our flight to be called. Alex leaned back in his seat, crossing his legs at the ankles, and I fidgeted with the strap of my bag, unable to sit still.
So Alex asked, his brow furrowed just a little. "Yeah, just… airports," I said, a little untruthfully. The flight was not what was making me uneasy—it was the growing cough I had had since waking up, the one I could not stop. Understanding, Alex nodded from beside me; "The chaos, the crowds – yes, I know. But once we are up there, it will be so worth it." Smiling, I let out a nervous chuckle; "I know, and I am really looking forward to it. Just… I don't know. Feeling a bit overwhelmed, maybe." His warm fingers traced soothing circles against my skin as he grabbed my right hand; "We will take everything step by step. And if you feel like sleeping or just having a break, you just need to say so." My chest ached with how good he was and how little he knew what he has committed himself to. I wanted to tell him, needed to tell him, but the words found themselves caught in my throat, too afraid and guilty to be let loose. Before I could gather enough courage, the boarding agent called in our group and we slowly raised, finally standing and joining the line of passengers. Alex held firmly to my hand, his touch keeping me grounded in the present. As we finally entered the plane, the reality of what we were going to do finally hit me. I was going to Paris—with Alex, no less. The Hunk I had met just weeks ago, who managed to lighten my every day in the most unexpected way. It was reckless, maybe even totally foolish, but I felt more alive than I had for years.
Finding our seats, I settled by the window, tucking my bag beneath the one in front of me. Alex stashed his guitar in the overhead bin, sat beside me, and his shoulder brushed mine. "First time flying to Europe?" he inquired softly. I nodded. "I have visited a number of places in the States, but after this, it would be my first time over the ocean." He confessed embarrassingly, "me neither. Guess we are both up to something new." I laughed, feeling some of the knots loosening in my chest, "at least we are in it together." "Exactly!" he responded, bending closer as if to whisper very closely, "And if we happen to get lost in the middle of Paris, I will just say it is your complexities and personality that forced that to happen and nothing else." I laughed and gestured to hit him on the arm. "Anyway, I am good with maps." He looked down at the floor. "You're probably the one to follow the whim of any musician and leave me behind." "You are guilty," he admitted, letting his eyes dance;) "but I promise to remain around; I cannot allow you to get lost without me." The plane started racing on the runway, and I became aware of my surroundings. I turned and gazed out of the window. The city lights retreated, morphing into a pattern of lights and shades. I felt as though I was floating, unmoved by the heaviness of my sickness, the life I had departed. The heaviness shifted as the plane got higher, and I started coughing. I wrapped my scarf around my mouth, muffling the sound, but Alex noticed it and frowned: "are you okay?" he said with concern. "The air's dry," I managed, coughing. "I will feel okay."
"What do you have?!" he nodded, still not looking entirely convinced but reaching into his satchel. "Here, take some of this. It helps with hydration;" I quickly took the bottle from his hands and drank as he reasoned with his nostrils. The cough eventually subsided, but the pain and itchiness seemed permanent the two were here for longer. The attendants tried to make a routine announcement starting with that troublesome seat belt, and without peeling off Alex's eyes, he looked and whispered, "I think I'm going to sleep a little bit. It might help," he suggested. I feigned to concur, and after his eyelids dropped down, I noted they were shut down. Furthermore, there was no way I was going to sleep. My feelings were clouded by whirlwind thoughts, and there was no way I could possibly sleep. Therefore took out my book and with no idea in mind, I drew the plane's wing against the cloud. How beautiful: nearly a symbol of Juliette's dream, having a whole sky for the wings and flying forward on the unknown. From the corner of my eye, I could see Alex's breath deepen, but all that Socrates could say about that was that humans must require sleep. He looked he was dreaming, and young. I gazed at him, wondering what adventure lied in his sleep that he never told me. If he ever slept, did he dream of Paris? Is there was a dark side in his imaginary city? I resumed to my drawing with a feeling I was drawing my own nightmare. I drew the eye of a hurricane, the ethereal beauty of cloud with shadows and high contrasts. I didn't have Antione's talent, but it must have been painful to draw better than him for the many years I was articled to me. I turned back to the clouds.
Even while I drew, my mind kept coming back to the bolt of truth that I hadn't revealed to Alex. The sickness he could get. The forecast that had an expiration date on it. The fact that I couldn't keep something like this from him permanently; not if we were going to spend the forthcoming year together. He deserved this—he deserved to figure out what it all meant. He deserved to understand the facts and then decide if he still wanted to be connected to it. I just didn't grasp how to tell him; how to crush the fantasy we were living with the cold and inscrutable truths. I shut my sketchpad as the wings straightened, laying my head against the cool glass of the and clinging to the chill that glazed my skin. For now, I could permit myself this; the glee, the faith, the passionate resin of life. I'd get the words perhaps tomorrow. But for tonight, for now, with Paris stretching several kilometers on the other side of the sea, I'd crush the bits of the fantasy in my hands and savor its syrup as much as I could.