Page 89 of From Rivals to I Do

I can feel my irritation growing as I explain. “Your son keeps trying to touch my wristwatch. It’s not appropriate.”

The woman’s gaze shifts to the little boy, and she addresses him in a firm but gentle tone. “Alex, honey, you can’t touch other people’s things without permission. Remember what we talked about?”

Alex nods, seemingly understanding the gravity of the situation. His mother’s intervention appears to calm him down, and he withdraws his hand.

Turning her attention back to me, the lady offers an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry about that. He’s just a little boy and can be quite curious.”

I relent a bit, realizing that my reaction might have been too harsh. I nod, not wanting to say any more.

She nods appreciatively. “I’m really sorry. Thank you for your understanding.”

The tension in the air eases, and I return my attention to my work. Despite the initial disruption, I find myself glancing over at the mother and son occasionally. It’s hard not to notice the affectionate way she interacts with him.

Maybe she’s a single mother, I think.

After some moments, I feel pressed. I unbuckle my seatbelt and walk to the toilet to relieve myself. When I walk back, I find the woman and the little boy engaged in chatter, looking at the window.

I return to my seat, expecting to continue reviewing the documents on my tablet, but the woman addresses me. “Excuse me, sir,” she says with a polite tone. “Alex has never been on a plane before, and he’s really excited about seeing the clouds and looking out of the window.” She pauses, and then continues, “Would you mind switching seats with him for a little while so he can enjoy the view? It would mean the world to him.”

Her request catches me off guard. I glance at Alex, who’s sitting there with wide, curious eyes, seemingly fascinated by the idea of gazing out of the window. But I’m not comfortable with this request. I’ve always preferred to keep to myself during flights, engrossed in my work or thoughts.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t do that,” I reply, my tone polite but firm. “It’s not appropriate to ask strangers to switch seats, especially when we’re already seated.”

The woman’s face falls, disappointment evident in her eyes. She tries another approach. “Please, it would only be for a minute. He’s just a little boy, and this could be a memorable experience for him.”

I lean back in my seat, maintaining my position. “I understand that, but we can’t always get what we want in life. It’s essential for him to learn that early on. Besides, it’s against airline regulations to change seats without the cabin crew’s permission,” I explain patiently, hoping she’ll understand.

Her shoulders slump as if she’s been defeated. She gazes out of the window, where the evening sky begins to darken, the last traces of daylight slowly fading into night. She looks lost in thought for a moment.

After a while, she sighs and makes the little boy comfortable in his seat, adjusting his blanket and securing his seatbelt. She covers her ears with a set of noise-canceling headphones, seemingly drowning herself in music. The once bright and cheerful atmosphere between our seats has dissolved into an unspoken tension.

She’s no longer interested in engaging with me, and I return to my documents, grateful for the solitude. The soft hum of the plane’s engines and the distant chatter of other passengers fill the cabin as I immerse myself in my work, my thoughts drifting away from the previous exchange.

After about an hour of intense concentration on my tablet, I finally lift my gaze. The cabin is quieter now, the initial buzz of passengers settling down having mellowed into a steady hum of the airplane’s engines. I look around, taking in my surroundings.

There, a few rows ahead, is the woman—the flight attendant from earlier on. Her jet-black hair is wrapped in a bun and her face is layered in heavy makeup, heavy enough to assure me of not recognizing her if I ever met her elsewhere. I initially didn’t recognize her immediately till I saw her name tag which reads ‘Emily’. It’s amusing how quickly they rotate flight attendants on these international flights, but it’s irrelevant to me.

Emily approaches me with a warm smile, and despite her professional demeanor, her eyes carry a subtle hint of flirtation. “Sir, would you like to have your meal now?”

I glance at the woman and the boy beside me; they’re already having their meals. I nod and reply, “Yes, I’ll have it now, please.”

She hands me a tray of food with a friendly demeanor, and as I take it, her fingers brush mine, perhaps a bit too deliberately. She lingers for a moment longer than necessary, but I don’t give her any encouragement.

I turn back to my tray of food and start eating. It’s a quiet meal. The meal in the food tray is a compact arrangement of chicken, rice, and vegetables, neatly sectioned off in small compartments. There’s also a bottle of water and another of a fruit drink.

I glance over at the woman and the little boy. They eat with minimal conversation, speaking in hushed tones when necessary. It’s as if they’ve created their own little world within this airplane cabin, a world where I’m nothing more than an intruder.

The silence between us becomes noticeable, and it starts to weigh on me. I try to focus on my food and the work I’ll need to get back to after the meal, but something about their isolation tugs at my conscience.

I finish my meal and turn off my tablet, placing it in the net rack behind the seat in front of me. I take a moment to watch the lady and the little boy. She seems like a wonderful mother—gentle, kind-hearted, and patient. A sense of guilt washes over me as I consider that I’ve been ignoring them.

Emily, the flight attendant, approaches again. Her flirtatious mannerisms haven’t diminished, and she gives me a lingering look as she collects my tray. I try to be polite but distant. Her attention is the last thing I need right now.

The flight continues, and I find my gaze drifting back to the woman and the little boy. They’ve fallen into a cocoon of silence, seemingly unaware of my presence. The little boy, Alex, is tucked into his seat, a blanket draped over him, and his eyes closed in slumber. The lady, whose name I don’t know, wears a weary expression as she stares out the window.

I can’t help but admire her. If she is a single mother, then she must be doing her job well, handling her responsibilities with grace and care. She’s pretty, in a simple and natural way, and her gentle nature is evident even from a distance. I’ve been too absorbed in my own world, too engrossed in my work, to pay attention to them. I should have been more considerate, more welcoming.

I sigh and turn my gaze back to my tablet, knowing that I can’t undo the hours of silence that have passed between us. But perhaps, for the remainder of this journey, I can make an effort to be more present and understanding. After all, it’s the least I can do to ease the discomfort of their flight.

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