Chapter 2 — Clouds and Currents
Liam
The plane hummed steadily beneath Liam as he adjusted his seatbelt, tightening it reflexively. He glanced sideways at Emma, who sat rigid, her eyes fixed on the slim, leather-bound notebook balanced on her lap. The notebook, as familiar to him as the woman holding it, was weathered at the edges, its caramel-brown leather soft with use. It had always been her constant companion, a vessel for her thoughts, her stories, her world. Seeing it again after so long was like stumbling upon a relic of a life he’d once lived but no longer belonged to.
Emma, for her part, seemed intent on pretending he didn’t exist. Her fingers tapped a pen against the notebook’s strap, the rhythm sharp and precise, like her words often were. A familiar habit, one that betrayed her nerves. She was composed on the surface, her posture straight and her expression impassive, but Liam recognized the tension simmering beneath. It was the same energy that used to draw him in, maddening yet magnetic.
He cleared his throat, his voice low as he finally broke the silence. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”
Her head turned slowly, her hazel eyes—flecked with gold—meeting his. For a moment, something raw passed between them, a flicker of shared history that neither seemed ready to acknowledge. Then, just as quickly, she looked away, tucking a loose strand of dark brown hair behind her ear.
“Nor I you,” she replied, her tone crisp, deliberate. She leaned back slightly, creating a barrier of distance that felt both physical and emotional.
Liam hesitated before leaning forward, his forearms resting on his knees. “Paris, huh? Work or pleasure?”
She exhaled, the faintest edge of irritation in her breath. “Work. A feature on the hidden stories of the city. You?”
“Work, too. A presentation for a new project. Some networking. The usual.”
Her lips tightened, and she tapped her pen against the notebook again. “The usual,” she echoed, her tone flat.
He watched her for a moment, the faint turbulence of the plane mirroring the tension between them. “I guess we’re both still chasing what we want,” he offered, aiming for casual but landing somewhere closer to uncertain.
Emma turned to him fully now, her eyes narrowing. “Is that what you think? That I’m chasing something?”
The sharpness in her tone caught him off guard. He straightened slightly in his seat. “I just meant—”
“You meant what?” Her voice was quiet but pointed, her words slicing through the steady hum of the engines. “That I’m still chasing something I can’t have? Or that I don’t know what I’m doing?”
He opened his mouth to reply but stopped himself, the weight of her gaze silencing him. She turned back to her notebook, flipping it open with deliberate slowness. Liam glimpsed the neat rows of handwriting, interspersed with quick sketches—streetlamps, café tables, the arches of a bridge. He remembered moments like this from their time together, sitting across from her in a café in Madrid, watching her pen move with the same quiet intensity. She’d been so completely in her element back then, her focus unshakable. That memory lingered now, bittersweet.
“I’m not chasing anything,” she said finally, her voice softer now but no less certain. “I know exactly where I’m going.”
The words landed heavier than he expected, like a subtle but deliberate jab. He leaned back in his seat, stretching his legs out in front of him. “Fair enough,” he murmured.
Silence stretched between them, broken only by the faint murmur of the cabin and the occasional announcement from the captain. Liam’s gaze drifted to the book resting on his lap: an architectural guide filled with his annotations and sketches. He opened it to a bookmarked page, though the words blurred together, his thoughts slipping back to Emma. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see her pen moving again, her brow furrowed in concentration. He wondered what she was writing—an opening line, perhaps, or one of those vivid descriptions she was so good at. He thought of how he used to love watching her work, how her mind seemed to light up the moment she put pen to paper. That hadn’t changed. Neither, it seemed, had the way it captivated him.
The turbulence hit without warning, a sharp jolt that rattled the plane and sent a ripple of murmurs through the cabin. Emma’s pen slipped, leaving a jagged line across the page. She cursed softly, her hand gripping the armrest.
“You okay?” Liam asked, his voice steady despite the tightening in his chest. He wasn’t a fan of turbulence either, but he forced himself to stay calm.
“I’m fine,” she said quickly, though her knuckles were white against the armrest. Another tremor shook the plane, and she snapped her notebook shut, clutching it against her chest like a shield.
Liam hesitated, his hand hovering over hers before pulling back. “It’ll pass,” he offered. “Just a bit of rough air.”
She nodded but didn’t look at him. Her breathing was shallow, her shoulders tense. He wanted to say something—something that might comfort her, maybe even make her laugh—but the words caught in his throat. Instead, he glanced at the notebook in her arms, its leather surface glinting faintly in the overhead light.
“What are you writing?” he asked, more to fill the silence than anything else.
Her grip on the notebook tightened. “An essay,” she said after a pause. “About letting go.”
His brow furrowed. “Letting go of what?”
Her lips twitched, almost forming a smile, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “Everything,” she said simply.
Another jolt shook the plane, and he saw her brace herself, her frame taut with tension. Without thinking, he reached out again, this time letting his hand rest lightly on her forearm. She stiffened but didn’t pull away.
“Emma,” he said quietly, his voice low enough that only she could hear. “You don’t have to do it all alone.”
Her gaze snapped to his, sharp and guarded. For a moment, he thought she might tell him to back off. But then her expression shifted, softening just enough to reveal the vulnerability beneath.
“I’ve been doing it alone for a long time,” she said quietly. “It’s easier that way.”
His hand fell away, his chest tightening at her words. He wanted to tell her it didn’t have to be that way, that she didn’t have to carry everything alone. But he didn’t. Instead, he leaned back in his seat, letting the moment slip away.
The turbulence began to ease, the plane leveling out as the captain’s voice crackled over the intercom. Liam barely registered the announcement, his thoughts still tangled in the weight of Emma’s words.
She opened her notebook again, her pen moving across the page in precise, deliberate strokes. Liam watched her for a moment longer before turning back to his guidebook, though the sketches and annotations no longer held his attention.
The clouds outside the window stretched endlessly, a vast expanse of white and gray that seemed to mirror the distance between them. As the faint murmur of the flight attendants drifted through the cabin—mentioning something about rerouted flights—Liam glanced at Emma one last time. This unexpected reunion felt like turbulence of another kind, one that might not pass so easily.
