f o r t y - s i x

*

I don't know where the time went. One minute, Arjun and I were enjoying the sun and the view as we walked down the infamous Lombard Street – which, I learned today, is not simply called that wiggly road – and the next minute, we were trying to figure out the ticket machine at Union Square station in order to get the BART to the airport.

Now we're sitting in a quiet carriage, a couple of stops away from San Francisco International, and I can't stop tapping my foot. Arjun puts his hand over my knee, but the incessant jiggling only abates for a minute before apprehension kicks in. I don't want to get there, for this to be reality, but it is. The trip is over and in three hours, I'll be boarding a plane that will carry me over the USA and the Atlantic, depositing me in London.

The BART wheezes to a stop. Arjun stands, slinging his bag over his shoulder, and takes my hand to pull me to my feet. His fingers slip to my elbow and he holds on as we leave, jostling along the platform in search of the exit that will carry us to departures.

It's getting late, eight o'clock already, and we were up so early this morning that I don't know if I'll be able to stay awake until eleven. I'm already fighting off yawns, trying to save my sleep for the flight. Ten hours is too long, never mind the hour of security and three hours of extra travel at the other end. I haven't left San Francisco yet, and I'm already dreading trying to cross London.

"Ready?" Arjun's voice pierces my thoughts. I look up to see that we're at security, about to join a queue. With only hand luggage between us, making the most of our carry-on allowance, we were able to skip having to line up for bag drop, and I don't even have any liquids to separate into a plastic bag.

I'm ready for security, but ... I'm so not ready.

But somehow, the line trundles forwards and I go through the motions, slipping out of my shoes and loading my things into a plastic tray, walking through the scanner and managing not to set off any alarms. The whole experience has me on edge, but I make it through without an issue and Arjun follows right behind, inching closer as we wait for our bags to come back.

His little finger curls around mine, the back of his hand warm against mine. "You're very quiet," he says.

"I don't want to be here."

He sighs. "Me neither." When our trays emerge, he pulls them over and slips on his shoes, tucking his phone and passport into his pocket and shouldering his bag. "But we are, and before you know it, we'll be back in England and as much as you'll miss being here, you'll be glad to be home."

He's right, of course. I've told him about the niggle of homesickness lingering somewhere at the base of my skull, but that doesn't make it much easier to drag myself through the airport, towards a crowded concourse and then a crowded gate, onto a crowded plane to take me to a crowded city.

But there's no avoiding the inevitable. Once we've retrieved everything, and I've spent a couple of minutes cursing the decision to wear lace-up trainers through security, Arjun takes my hand and we walk through duty free. The anxious pit in my stomach tightens with each step, counting down the seconds until we have to part ways.

As soon as we hit the concourse, I look up at the departures board in search of my flight, but it's a fruitless exercise when the board is high and the letters are tiny, the red glow rendering each word unreadable no matter how hard I squint. Maybe I need glasses, even if I didn't have dyslexia.

Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Arjun watch me and adjust his glasses. He clears his throat and hums a sigh. "What's your flight number again?"

"I have no idea. But it's a Virgin Atlantic at ten past eleven, I think."

He scans the board. "It's on time. The gate will be announced in an hour."

"What about yours?"

He purses his lips and clucks his tongue quietly to himself, and says, "Cancelled."

My heart sinks as I twist to face him, eyebrows pulled together. "Wait, what? Why?"

He shrugs. "I don't know. I got an email two days ago."

Confusion rolls through me like a tidal wave leaving nothing in its wake but swirling sand that obscures my thoughts. My brain turns to a puddle of syrup when I try to figure out what he's saying. That his flight's cancelled but he's here anyway; that he's known for two days and didn't say anything.

"How are you getting home?"

Another shrug. I'm about to shake him when he says, "I managed to get myself rebooked on a different flight. Your flight." Now he turns to face me fully and a grin breaks out as he waves his hands and says, "Surprise!"

"Oh my ... what?" There's a quiver in my voice instantly, and I try to track back over the past couple of days in case I missed a clue, but I had no idea. He hid that well. Holy shit. When I gather myself and register what he's saying, a wild grin breaks out and a laugh bubbles up. I throw my arms around him, so tightly that he chokes.

"Steady on there, princess," he says, grinning as he eases me off him. "I was going to tell you before, but then I figured it'd be better to hold off until we made it to the airport. I was going to just follow you round and see how long it took you to ask why I wasn't catching my flight, but then I decided that'd be too mean."

"Oh my god. So we're on the same plane?"

"The very same. And because you let me do check-in for you"—I got frustrated trying to fill in the online check-in form yesterday, and ended up just throwing my passport and confirmation email at him—"I managed to snag us two seats together."

I could melt or cry or let my wobbly knees sink with relief that crushes my tired, over-emotional body, but instead I grip Arjun and try not to let tears get the better of me in the middle of the airport.

"I really didn't want to get on that plane alone."

"I know. I really didn't want to fly on my own either." His cheek, freshly-shaved this morning, is soft and warm against mine. "My first thought when I got that email was oh, shit, I can't get home. My second was shit, I better get on the phone quick and get on March's flight."

"You're incredible," I say when I let go of him, letting gratitude overwhelm every other emotion currently fighting for first place.

"I got very lucky." He prods his chest with his thumb. "Not many people can say that about a cancelled flight, right?" At that, he takes out his boarding pass and holds it up next to mine, and I don't need to be able to read the letters and numbers to see that aside from our names, the only difference is the seat number. Mine says 21A; his is 21B.

"If we get even luckier, there'll be no-one in 21C," he says, "but that'd be pushing it."

"I'm feeling pretty fucking lucky already." I can't help the wetness that springs to my eyes, blurring Arjun. He cups my cheeks and kisses me gently, his lips nudging mine for just a second.

"Me too."

I feel as though a weight has been sprung from my shoulders, even though I know all it means is that I'll get an extra ten sleepy hours with Arjun and I'll probably doze off on his shoulder. But I was so dreading this next step of my journey, and now I'm excited to share a row with him, to try to start a film at the exact same time and fall asleep against him.

There won't be a grumpy stranger next to me, someone whose thigh I try not to touch with my own, someone who hogs the armrest and pisses me off even though I never even use the armrest. I can't keep the smile from my face, can't put into words my relief.

"We're pretty early," Arjun says. "We've got ages before the gate even opens, let alone boarding, so how about we find somewhere to sit and eat?"

"Yes. Please. Let's." We walked a lot today, more than we planned to and more than I realised I was capable of, and considering it's only been four days since I sprained my ankle – how has it only been four days, when it feels like weeks now since Arjun kissed me for the first time – I should still be resting.

I know that as soon as I get home, it'll suddenly feel worse. Right now, thanks to the adrenaline of being abroad and being with Arjun, and the fear of American hospitals, has kept me from struggling too much, but a sprain usually means a few days of virtual bedrest and a couple of weeks of limited activity. I definitely haven't followed those guidelines. It's starting to twinge at the thought alone and my step gets a little heavier, a little more unbalanced, as we search for somewhere to park our arses for the next hour.

Arjun notices the change in my gait, his eyes dropping to my foot and then meeting mine. "We've nearly made it," he says. "D'you reckon we can make it back to England without another injury?"

"Debateable. I could still drop my bag on my head when I try to put it in the overhead bin."

"Then I'll be stowing your bag for you."

"I could trip on the way to the plane from the gate."

"Guess I'll have to carry you."

"Any number of things could happen in the next two hours," I point out. "I could trip in the loos and faceplant a urinal; I could buy a hot chocolate and dr-"

"You know what?" Arjun pulls me to a stop right by a pair of seats and plants his hands on my shoulders, pushing me down onto the chair. "You could sit there completely still and we'll avoid catastrophe, and you're only going to move when the plane's about to leave and they're calling our names over the tannoy."

I put on a serious face and nod. "Ok."

"Good." He sinks onto the seat opposite, plants his elbows on the table, and lets out a heavy sigh. "Now we wait."

*

Airports may be busy places with tons to do, but it's hard to do anything except think about the flight, obsessively checking for a gate announcement and counting down the minutes until take-off. We distract ourselves with food and drinks, and I even try a sip of Arjun's coffee in an attempt to stay awake – and I promptly decide I'd rather sleep.

But I don't. I can't, of course. So we talk and we play disastrous card games, we eat more food – might as well use our leftover dollars; I know myself well enough to know I'll never get round to taking it to a currency exchange once I'm home. At our gate, we whip out the cards again until I'm too tired to focus, the numbers swimming in front of my eyes more than usual.

And then, amidst a flurry of activity, we board. My boarding pass checks out; my passport's fine, and I'm on the plane with Arjun right behind me. He takes my bag and ushers me into the window seat, his shirt rising when he stretches to stow our stuff, and he drops onto the seat next to me with an insatiable waft of aftershave.

"We made it. Step one, complete," he says. "I reckon ... thirty minutes until we're in the air; ten and a half hours until we reach London. That's, like, three full films."

"Or a good night's sleep."

He grins at me as he arranges his stuff, tucking his passport back into his bag and pulling out his phone and his earphones, his book and his charger. I can see a folded page three quarters of the way through the book and my heart seizes at the memory alone, knowing exactly what lies ahead of him.

"Don't say anything," he says.

"What?"
"I know you know what happens, and I know what has to happen, but please don't say anything because I already know this is going to break my heart." He taps the battered cover of the book that he has lugged around from campsite to campsite for two weeks.

"I won't say a word until you've finished."

"Ok. Much appreciated." He stretches his back and settles into the seat, resting his head against mine. "Reckon you'll sleep?"

I mime zipping my mouth shut. He rolls his eyes and reaches over to mime unzipping my lips, his fingertip brushing the curve of my top lip. I resist the urge to bite.

"You can talk. Just nothing about Achilles or his song or Patroclus or anything remotely Greek, ok? I wasn't asking for radio silence. I don't want that." He pokes my cheek, where there'd be a dimple if I had dimples. "I just don't want spoilers."

"You mean more spoilers than actual history, which you already know?"

"Yes. Now shush, and listen to the safety announcement."

"We haven't finished boarding yet."

He cracks open his book, leans against me, and he starts to read.

The plane slowly fills up, occasionally bottlenecking when someone stops near the front to wrangle their bags into the overhead bins while the queue swells behind them. I watch it all as Arjun reads, flipping the pages a hundred times faster than I could.

I watch as people head towards the empty seat on the end of our row, and they pass it by. I watch as one guy approaches us, a vague sneer on his face when he clocks how close we are, and I breathe a sigh of relief when he continues on to the very back of the plane. I watch as empty seats fill up all around us and 21C remains empty. Arjun finishes a chapter and starts another, his head on my shoulder, as I watch the flight attendants check the bins and shut them. The seat is still empty when an attendant locks the plane door and we start to reverse away from the gate.

"Score," I say to Arjun as the safety demonstration begins both on the screen in front of us and in person from a flight attendant a few rows ahead.

"Hmm? What?" He looks up from his book and only then notices that the seat next to him is empty. "Oh! Nice! We've got a whole row to ourselves?"

"We've got a whole row to ourselves," I say. "We're basically in first class. This is luxury right here, Arjun. This might actually be the most luxurious moment of my entire life, past and future."

He gives me a funny look, a laugh in his eyes. "Want me to find somewhere else to sit? Let you enjoy an entire row just for you?"

"No. But you could scoot over when the seatbelt sign's off so I can lie down and use you as a pillow."

"What if I want to scoot over and I lie down and use you as a pillow?"

"Either way, you're going to be scooting. We're not letting this opportunity go to waste," I say. "I didn't move at all on the flight over because there were two strangers between me and the aisle and I didn't want to wake them up. Now there's only one person between me the aisle, and I have no problem asking him to budge so I can pee."

"The perks of flying with your boyfriend, eh?" He sits up and folds his book over his thumb and takes out his phone. While we're still pulling away from the gate, he checks in on Facebook – at San Francisco International, flying to Heathrow, tagging me and adding a plane and a waving hand emoji – and sends a text to his mum.

My phone buzzes with the notification. I haven't put it on airplane mode yet, and before someone comes over to yell at me, I open my family chat and send off a quick message. It's seven in the morning at home; someone will be up.

ME: on the plane, taxiing now! t-10 hours

The message gets two ticks instantly. They don't go blue – Flo's probably still sleeping – but it takes no time for Dad to start typing. He sends a whole string of the hands-in-the-air emoji before an actual message.

DAD: CAN'T WAIT TO SEE YOU! have a safe flight! we'll be tracking you for the next ten hours so please don't go down over the atlantic! hope you have a great time scoobs, see you soon! xx

A flight attendant is walking down the aisle checking seatbelts so I don't have time to send back anything more than a few hearts before I have to switch on airplane mode and tuck my phone back into my pocket. It's weird to think that the next time I message my family, I'll be back in England, where I'll probably be greeted with rain for the first time in two weeks.

The taxiing seems to go on forever, until the plane rounds a corner and slows to a halt, and the sound in the engines beneath me changes. Discomfort grips my stomach and I find Arjun's hand, clutching his fingers as we speed up down the runway and I sink deeper into my seat.

"You ok?" he asks. "Nervous flier?"

"Inexperienced flier," I say, trying to ignore the jelly flipping in my guts. I accidentally let out a groan of fear and unease and hold his hand even tighter as the plane's nose lifts off the ground, then the wheels.

We're in the air. I feel funny. It helps to look out of the window, my cheek turned against the wall, until the plane starts to bank to one side and it feels as though the dark, electricity-lit ground seems to rush up to me and I have to close my eyes and turn away.

"Want a mint?" Arjun asks, popping a chewable mint into his mouth. "It helps to suck on something."

I nod, too discombobulated to make a joke, and I hold out my hand. He passes me one and I suck furiously to distract myself from the growing pressure in my ears that grows and grows until it's almost painful, and then they pop. Relief sinks in. I make a concerted effort to relax my shoulders and let go of the tension crunching up every muscle.

We break through the clouds and the lights fade away, until all I can see is utter darkness out of the window. When we reach thirty-five thousand feet, the plane plateaus and my belly settles. I suck in a deep breath and let it out in a long sigh as I release my death-grip on Arjun's hand.

We're six miles in the air and six thousand miles from home, but now, that number ticks down with every minute that passes. I watch the map on the screen and I look at the vast nothingness outside the window, and I turn to face Arjun.

"Homeward bound," he murmurs, his book open on his lap. "There's no turning back."

There really isn't. This is it. The trip is over. We're in the air, hurtling over land and sea, a long night away from home. I could close my eyes and fall asleep and wake up in England, saying goodbye to Arjun, and that churns my stomach almost as much as take-off. 

*

an update at last! i wish i had a good excuse for the delay but honestly it's just because i rediscovered sims 4 and writing time became game time. but the story's so nearly over and i'm determined to finish it before i head back to america in 2 weeks! unlike march, i loooove flying, though i have very sensitive ears - a couple of years ago, my eardrum actually burst on takeoff, cue blood and temporary deafness - fun times!