01
c o l l i d e

Las Vegas
August

I DRAG MYSELF onto the plane and slump into the seat next to the window. Digging my hands into my jean pocket, I take out my phone and glance at the illuminating clock.

5:02 AM.

Waking up at three in the morning just to catch a flight is certainly not wise—even though this is not my first time doing it—but I smile at the thought that after five hours, I will be waking up in my homeland.

New York City, my home.

Part of me can't help but worry—will New York still feel like my home? After a year of travelling around the States, I've come to the conclusion that NYC is, really, a metropolis. I haven't taken the subways, driven on the Brooklyn Bridge and wandered around apartments for ages. And I definitely haven't seen my mom for a long time, too.

Even though I'm getting used to the life of moving from motel to motel, I know that returning is inevitable. Here, Las Vegas, will be my last stop, and I have to go back home for graduate school.

Sweeping away my unsettling thoughts, I snuggle up against the window and drift to sleep.

The first thing I expect to see when I wake up is the sunlight that blankets the skyline. But instead, my eyes are exposed to the same airport runway as I look out of the window.

I look at my phone's clock skeptically.

6:09 AM

What the hell? Shouldn't I be soaring in the sky by now?

A voice suddenly cuts through the airplane, "Dear ladies and gentlemen, I'm sorry to inform you that the LaGuardia Airport has just confirmed about its temporary closure due to the inclement rainstorm in New York City..."

Did I hear it right? I woke up at three and dashed to the airport just to be informed that my flight is cancelled?

The next thing I know is that I'm making my way through the crowded airport, with over three hundred passengers of my plane simultaneously trying to figure out where to rebook the flights. This is what happens when you take the United Airlines—the crews are even more oblivious than the passengers when dealing with flight cancellations.

I swivel my way through the sea of bodies to check-in aisle C, just for them to tell me that I have to use the airline phones to reschedule my flight by myself in aisle S which, for the sake of airport design, is on the other end of the airport.

As I shuffle on the floor, I feel my heart ricocheting through my chest. When I finally arrive at aisle S and slow down to catch my breath, I gape at the insanely long line of travellers.

Seriously, they only have six freaking airline telephones?

I feel my patience slowly fizzling out of my body. I decided to stride back to aisle C, the ground crews have to know something.

"Excuse me," I ask a uniformed lady in aisle C with my labored breath, "my flight got cancelled, are there any other ways that I can rebook my flight?"

She smiles enthusiastically and answers with a Russian accent, "Aisle S has—"

"I know, I know, any other ways?" I ask desperately. I'm not part of the business class gang, a single second late in rebooking can result in hours of waiting for me.

"There are also rebooking services in aisle F—"

"Aisle what?" I interrupt before she can finish.

"Aisle F." She's still plastering on a smile.

I sigh and rush toward counter F. "Why didn't they tell us earlier?" I mutter under my breath.

I quickly punch the button on a machine standing next to the booths of counters in aisle F. A slip emerges out of the machine, and I look at the number on it—246.

I glance up at the large monitor. It's currently at 190. Great, more waiting.

I decide to kill time by browsing my phone. Because of how I constantly change locations during the year, I communicate with my friends over social media instead of phone numbers.

Or I should say, non-existent friends.

I won't say that I don't know a single person, but what exactly is the definition of friends? They're more like passengers, no one is going to stick till the end in your life.

There's one person whom I talk to, though.

rileyran2: my flight got cancelled. don't know when the next flight will be, but you don't have to pick me up.

I hit the send button. Even though talking to my mom over text messages makes me feel more disconnected with her, I still feel like it's been a hard pill to swallow when thinking about her.

elaine_0203: Is everything okay?

My phone buzzes with her reply. I quickly type a "yes" to her and peek at the monitor.

Wait, what?

The number on the monitor says 250. I glance down at my slip of paper that writes 246.

For the sake of God, I missed my number.

I tighten my grip around the straps of my backpack and march to an empty counter. I'm not going to queue up again.

Just as I reach the counter, the lady sitting behind the desk throws me a scowl. "Please line up, miss."

"I know, but—"

"There are a lot of people waiting with you too, miss, please don't make a scene," she demands as she smacks on her gum.

My jaw almost unhinges at her words. Making a scene? Me? She didn't even let me finish!

I take in a deep breath and start again, "I'm not making a scene, and I don't understand why you could talk to a customer like this because I didn't hear a single ounce of respect in your attitude—"

"But you still have to line up, miss, please wait till your number is called." She rolls her eyes and proceeds to mutter something inaudible.

I stifle all my urge not to swear.

"She did line up, she just missed her number."

I hear a male's voice. It's not from behind me, so I look up. A uniformed guy that is maybe a full foot taller than I am appears next to the counter lady.

I blink a few times. He looks nothing over the age of twenty-three or four, and his brown hair is a mop of beautiful mess. We stare at each other for a second—his eyes so brown as to almost be black—and he quirks his eyebrows up.

Smiling, he turns to the annoyed lady. "I'll take it," he says.

The lady gets up from her chair immediately and walks away as she throws me another eye roll.

The tall guy sits down and glances up at me. "People get grumpy in the morning," he says as he gives me an apologetic smile.

"It's— it's fine," I whisper, a sense of warmth welling up inside my chest.

A corner of his lips tucks up as he lets out a chuckle. "So, flight got cancelled?

I nod, letting out an involuntary sigh. I outstretched my passport and original boarding pass to him. As he looks through my stuff, my eyes land on the name tag on his uniform. Noah Clermont, it says.

"I'm sorry about the cancellation, Miss Ran," he says as his eyes flick back to me.

I automatically smile at his pronunciation of my surname. Even after living in America for almost twenty-two years, I still get amused by how people mispronounce my Chinese surname. People always ask me whether I can run fast every time they see my surname, but really, "Ran" is nothing related to "run" in Chinese.

Noah seems surprised by my change of mood, and I quickly school myself back into a blank face.

He proceeds to say, "I've rescheduled your flight to... three p.m. on the twenty-sixth of August, which is approximately thirty-two hours from now."

I sigh reluctantly. What should I do in these thirty-two hours? I don't want to book a hotel again—I've spent enough money on flight tickets.

"Alright, thank you," I say as he returns my passport and boarding pass. Our eyes meet at that very moment, his gaze fixes on mine. He slowly tilts his head and smiles.

Letting out a heavy breath, I turn around while tightening my grip on my backpack straps. As I walk out of the aisle, I turn around again, looking straight at Noah's counter.

Damn Riley, the heck are you thinking about?

I attempt to flush away my thoughts just as my eyelids start to have a hard time defending gravity. Coffee, I need coffee.

I should be planning for my next thirty-two hours in the airport—what to do, what to eat, where to sleep and a lot more.

But first, coffee.

I wander around the airport trying to read every single sign that has the word "restaurant", and after some map reading and quick scanning (a skill that I've learnt from travelling), I find my way to a Starbucks.

I sit on an empty seat after ordering. I cradle my cup of hot coffee, putting the brim of it near my mouth as I let the steam moisten my lips. Listening to the hustle and bustle of the airport, I stare at the empty chair opposite to me, my thoughts jump between where to sleep tonight and how I shouldn't be drinking hot drinks in summer.

"Thirty-two hours, that's how you're spending it?"

The voice makes me snap my head up. It's Noah in his casual wear.

a/n

first chapter! what do you think?

the flight cancellation is solely based on a true story that happened to me (excluding the Noah part, of course, lol). the frustration is... real.

anyway, how do you feel about Noah for now? thank you so much for reading!