Flight 2

The soft hum of the airplane engines is a comforting backdrop to my thoughts as I make my way through the terminal. Today’s flight was a quick one—only a few hours, but I’m already bracing myself for the next. I’ve gotten so used to this routine that I could do it with my eyes closed, but something about the endless repetition leaves a hollow feeling in my chest. A nagging emptiness that I can’t quite shake, no matter how many miles I fly or how many faces I see. I can never get away from the truth of it all—that the connections I make are always fleeting, like wisps of smoke disappearing the moment I think I might hold on to them.

As I enter the staff lounge, my colleagues are buzzing with chatter about today’s passengers. Nothing extraordinary, they say. Just the usual crowd. But as usual, I keep my thoughts to myself. I nod and smile, offering polite responses where required, but inside, I’m already thinking about the next phase of my day, the next flight, the next moment where I will have to put up my emotional walls.

That’s when I hear it—the name that shifts the tone of the conversation in the room. Adrian Blackwell.

The name hits me like a thunderclap. It’s almost impossible to ignore. I’ve heard whispers about him for years, his reputation practically preceding him. Billionaire. Reclusive. Cold. Aloof. Adrian Blackwell is one of those names that floats in the background of conversations, like an unspoken force. I can never quite figure out why he’s so notorious. Is it the money? The power? Or perhaps it’s something else entirely? Whatever the reason, he commands attention without lifting a finger, and right now, that attention is focused entirely on him.

I’m immediately intrigued, but I don’t let it show. I keep my head down and sip my water, letting the conversation flow around me. The flight attendants near me are animated, discussing details of his latest appearance at some charity event that seemed to garner even more media attention than usual. His presence had sent the crowd into a frenzy, they say. Yet, no one could get close to him. He was there, yes—but only in the most distant sense. Detached, like he was floating above it all, untouchable, a ghost in a room full of living, breathing people.

It’s strange, I think, how someone can be surrounded by all this wealth and status and yet feel... invisible.

I try not to think about it too much, but there’s a gnawing curiosity. I’m not used to being fascinated by passengers. But there’s something about this man that makes me want to know more, something elusive and mysterious, like an untold story wrapped in silk.

The next few days pass quickly, and I continue to lose myself in the mundane tasks of the job. I push the thoughts of Adrian Blackwell to the back of my mind, focusing instead on the long flights, the endless rounds of coffee and snacks, and the polite smiles exchanged with passengers I’ll never remember. And yet, despite all of this, I still can’t shake the thought of him.

And then it happens.

I’m assigned to a flight that will take me to a destination I’ve been to hundreds of times before, but this one is different. For one thing, I can feel the undercurrent of tension in the air from the moment I walk onto the plane. The passengers are all murmuring to each other, their gazes flickering to one particular spot in first class. As I walk down the aisle to perform my usual service, I catch the name: Blackwell.

Of course, it would be him.

My gaze drifts to the front of the plane, to the man in question. Adrian Blackwell sits in first class, alone. His dark, immaculately tailored suit clings to his broad shoulders, the fabric sharp and crisp as though it had been carved from stone. His hair is dark, styled with precision, though I can already tell it’s the sort of effortless look that demands careful attention to detail. His face is chiseled, every feature perfectly aligned—almost too perfect. I find myself staring for a moment, captivated, though I quickly look away. I can’t let anyone know I’m staring. The last thing I need is to attract attention to myself for something so... human.

I can’t help it, though. There’s something magnetic about him. The way he sits there, exuding confidence without even trying. His posture is perfect, his gaze unfocused, as though he’s detached from the world around him. His lips are thin, but his jaw is strong, giving him an air of authority. Yet, beneath all that perfection, I can see a flicker of something—something that doesn’t quite match the polished persona. A loneliness, maybe. It’s hard to explain. But it’s there, in the way he holds himself, in the way he moves.

I’m snapped back to reality when one of the passengers asks for something, and I move on, continuing my rounds, though my mind is still partly occupied with him.

The flight proceeds, as expected. I’m busy with my service, moving between the aisles, interacting with passengers, but I keep sneaking glances toward first class. Adrian doesn’t seem to notice me. He doesn’t seem to notice anyone. He’s wrapped up in his own world. His indifference is palpable, and yet it’s the kind of indifference that commands respect. It’s clear he doesn’t care for pleasantries, for small talk. He’s above it all.

It’s a strange thing, really. To be surrounded by wealth and luxury and yet feel so... hollow. To have everything at your disposal and still feel isolated. I wonder if he feels that way—if this gilded cage is really as wonderful as it looks.

The flight continues without incident, and when it’s time for landing, I finally allow myself to take a breath. I’ve been running on autopilot all day—serving, smiling, handling complaints, all while trying to ignore the strange pull I feel when I’m near him.

As the plane touches down and the seatbelt sign dings off, I begin my usual closing duties, saying goodbye to passengers as they shuffle toward the exit. And then, as the final passengers disembark, I catch his eye.

Adrian Blackwell stands in the doorway, his eyes meeting mine briefly, his gaze cool but calculating. For a moment, I think he’s going to say something, but he doesn’t. He just nods curtly and steps off the plane. That’s all. No words. Nothing. Just the faintest trace of acknowledgment before he disappears into the crowd, like a shadow vanishing with the first light of day.

I stand there, watching him, feeling a strange sense of emptiness. It’s nothing personal. It’s just the way things are.

The flight is over, and I should move on. But for some reason, I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve just encountered someone who will haunt my thoughts long after the day has ended.

Adrian Blackwell. Billionaire. Reclusive. Cold. But there’s something more to him, something hidden behind those cold, calculating eyes.

Something that draws me in despite myself.