Maybe 15C belonged to his friend or a relative I was yet to meet.
Maybe the “love” wasn’t romantic.
Maybe I was about to humiliate myself with suspicion when he only meant some platonic love.
But my body already knew.
It had gone cold in that unmistakable way it does when the truth arrives before your mind is willing to receive it.
We took off, my heart thumping in my chest.
The climb pressed me back into my seat, and I gripped the armrests until my fingers hurt.
When the seatbelt sign finally dinged off, I sat motionless for another minute, then unbuckled.
I needed to see 15C. I wanted to simply have a glimpse of who was in that seat, or my mind would spiral with ideas until we landed.
I told myself I was going to the restroom.
That was normal, harmless, and nobody would look at me twice.
