SEVEN HOURS AGO
Seven hours ago

The last of the passengers for the trip from New York to Paris entered the cabin twenty minutes late. A set of three friends who were busy laughing and chatting right on the aisle, and a tall teenage boy who looked perhaps a year or two older than I was— around nineteen, or so. The group of friends  stacked their carry-on backpacks on the ceiling compartments, while the boy coughed loudly to part them on the aisle. He then walked through the narrow space, his hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans as he scanned the cabin for his seat.

He stopped in his tracks right beside me. Our eyes were connected for a moment, until I realize that the seat next to me, the window seat, was the vacant one. His seat. I gushed and stood up to clear the way for him because economy class seats have the smallest of leg rooms, apparently. He slid in without a word, but just a small and genuine smile of thanks. I nodded, returned his smile, and continued listening to the people around me.

Everyone seemed to be excited to go to Paris, talking about all the food and fashion, and of course, the infamous Eiffel Tower. I had lived there all my life, until I somehow took a break and moved to New York with my aunt for about six months, give or take. Despite New York being a place of opportunity, I terribly missed my true home, and so I packed my bags to fly back to Paris.

The boy set his backpack on the floor, opening it just right to fit his hand as he grabbed his earbuds. From the small slit in his backpack I saw a pair of drumsticks peeking out. He glanced up at me, our eyes locked together once again, just as I was about to look away.

"You don't seem excited," he exclaimed,  plugging in his earbuds into his phone.

"For what?" I replied, my head tilting to the side.

"We're going to Paris!" he exclaimed. "Are you not like all the girls who perpetually gush over life and fashion in Paris?"

I pursed my lips at his assumption, "Well, apparently, I'm not like most girls."

"Yeah?" His eyes ran down my figure, and he broke into a grin that took up his entire face. I would be offended, only if he wasn't so handsome.

"Well, I- uh, I used to live in Paris," I managed to say. "So I'm quite used to everything there."

"Really, huh?" His disarming smile was still across his face. Somehow it makes an unexplainable sensation run in my stomach. He opened his mouth to say more, until he was interrupted by the soft chime of my phone.

I pulled out my phone to see a message from my father asking me for the ninth time about what time the plane was to arrive in Roissy. He was too excited to see me once again after the longest time we've been apart. I sent him the same reply I sent twenty minutes ago before finally turning on the airplane mode as the cabin crew started to give the routinary reminders for flights.

"What brought you to New York, then?" he asked not too long after, shifting his entire body to face me. The small circle of light above our heads illuminated his face, and I started to take in his features in a closer level. Bright green eyes, a light dusting of freckles on his nose, and his pearly-white smile. He seemed to have abandoned the idea of sticking his earbuds in, in exchange for a conversation with me— which, I apologize, would be the blandest conversation he would ever have.

"I went to study music in Berklee, but I got homesick," I shrugged and looked to my side. "So now I'm here."

While I was having such a grand time in my new school, learning a lot about my passion and all, I truly missed home— my friends and family, most especially my dad, and my best friend since nappies, Alya. Sure, it was pretty hard to give up on the scholarship I worked so hard to get. All those weeks of rehearsing the same song over and over. The anxiety attack I had when I was just about to enter the stage to sing for the spectators. I did a lot to be in that school, but it seemed to be useless basking in the light all on my own.

"You play instruments?" His eyes lit up as he smiled even more. God, would he ever be tired of smiling? I pray not because there's just something about his grin that elates me.

"Not exactly," I replied. "I sing."

Remembering the pair of drumsticks he had stashed in his bag, I added, "How about you? I saw you had drumsticks in there."

"Nosy, aren't we?" He gave a small wink. 

My entire face flushed, and I retorted, "I'm just very observant."

The boy laughed and looked down on his lap. The sound. That... sound. It warms my heart, and sends a million shivers down my spine. I am an inch away from grabbing my phone and turning it into a ringtone, then the boy rested his back against his chair. 

The plane started to drive down the runway, gaining more and more speed by the minute. I held onto the armrest, then suddenly the boy placed his hand over mine. I knew that we had a common armrest but, the interlocked his fingers with mine— creating warmth on the back of my palm. Soon enough, the plane steadied itself in the atmosphere. The lights for the seat belts were turned off, and people started to move around the cabin.

"Yeah, I'm a drummer," he said. Realizing that his hand was still holding on to mine, he slowly lifted his. I swore I saw his ears turn red. 

Clearing off the awkward interaction, he quickly added, "I have my own band. Nothing much. We just play in a few gigs here and there."

"Really cool." I smiled. My heart slowed down its pace, as I knew that was a dead-end reply to this conversation, but Smiling Boy went on and on even more about his band. It was beautiful to see someone with so much passion talk about his interests. His eyes glimmered as he elaborated about his bandmates, and all their gigs and their adventures with each other. He wouldn't stop smiling the entire time, therefore my heart didn't stop pounding to the rhythm of his voice.

He paused for a moment and said, "Well, I want to hear more about you."

Giving off another one of his smiles, he adjusted the beanie on his head, and cupped his cheek with his hand. I could not stop looking at him and his nearly chartreuse eyes. There was something about him. Something I didn't understand at that moment. Like, he was a secret I've been dying to know. It was like I never knew anything, until I met him.

"There's nothing much about me," I replied. "I just sing. That's all."

"I can already hear you're too good for it with just the sound of your voice."

"Not really, but... I try."

"One day, I'm going to look for you in Paris," he said. "Then you will have to sing for me."

I laughed, "Well, I hope you find me then." I hope you really do.

He laughed along with me for a moment, until we were interrupted by the sound of someone cursing. Up ahead on the aisle, a man with jet-black hair with indigo streaks dropped his phone. A couple of children were in front of him, apologizing terribly to the man. He scowled at them, and the children scurried over to their seats. Meanwhile, their mother stood up to reprimand them, and to apologize to the creepy Goth Dude. He, then, also scowled at the nice lady, and scooted over to the back of the cabin where the restrooms were.

"Someone seems to be antsy to take a piss," Sunshine Smiling Boy commented with a deep chuckle.

I giggled softly, then suddenly recalled the book I had brought in to read for the flight. It was pretty dark, but there was nothing in this world to stop me from reading it. My aunt gave it to me as a going-away present. For the six months that I have been with her, she was the sweetest, most supportive person with me, besides my dad. She was my mother's sister, so she was always there for me, until she had to move to New York a little over two years ago. It was great to be able to reconnect with her after all these years.

Using the dim glow of the screen of my phone, I navigated through the contents of my handbag to find the book. The Little Prince. This should be interesting. I looked over at Sunshine Boy, and he seemed to be fast asleep already— earbuds in place. I had to tell my heart to calm down for like, the fifth time. He was just a boy that I met on a plane, and France is such a vast country. There isn't much room for us to meet again. 

Nevertheless, a bright smile was across my face as I watched his chest move up and down as he slept. At least the first five hours of my flight wasn't too bad. After some time watching him, I shifted my attention back to my book.

However, it didn't take long until the letters and pages of the book blurred out into morphed lines and figures, so I decided to ditch it and doze off for the remaining hours I had left in the flight.

I woke up to the sound of luggage falling off the ceilings.

The entire cabin was shaking uncontrollably— red lights of warning blinking everywhere. The passengers were holding on to whatever they could as the flight crew tried to calm everyone down. We took in the impact, the sound of trees rushing towards the side of the plane. Limbs, bodies and luggage slamming against each other.

I suddenly let go of my grasp on the seat. I took a deep breath as the branches hit the side of my head— a sharp pain surging through.

Then everything went black.