Chapter 2 — The Flight Encounter
Jack Bennett
Jack Bennett adjusted the strap of his Leica camera bag under the seat in front of him, his fingers brushing the worn leather like a talisman. The bag had traveled the world with him—Morocco, Iceland, Cambodia—but right now, it felt like his only anchor in the turbulence of this flight. And it wasn’t the turbulence outside the plane that unsettled him. No, it was the woman sitting in the seat beside him. Her posture was impeccably straight, her hazel eyes fixed firmly on the in-flight magazine as if it held the solution to some unspoken problem.
Mia. Three years and countless miles, and yet here she was, close enough that he could catch the faint scent of her perfume—a warm, floral fragrance that tugged at memories he’d tried to bury. Her sleek bob framed her face perfectly, not a strand out of place, her polished appearance a testament to the control she always seemed to wield. The pocket watch on her necklace swayed faintly as she shifted in her seat, the engraved silver catching the cabin’s dim light like a pendulum measuring the moments between them.
Jack leaned back in his seat, feigning indifference. “Small world, huh?” His voice came out lighter than he felt, an instinctive attempt to diffuse the awkwardness.
Mia didn’t look up. “Not particularly. Statistically speaking, it’s bound to happen eventually.” There was no warmth in her voice, only precision, each word clipped as if rehearsed for just such an encounter.
He couldn’t help but smirk. “Always the pragmatist.”
Her lips twitched—barely—but she didn’t give him the satisfaction of a smile. Instead, she flipped another page of the magazine, her nails clicking softly against the glossy paper. Jack studied her out of the corner of his eye, noting the subtle tension in her shoulders, the way she gripped the edge of the magazine a little tighter than necessary. She was trying to act unbothered, but he knew her well enough to recognize the signs. She was bracing herself, girding against him like he was a storm she needed to weather.
“Well, it’s good to see you,” he offered, his tone more earnest now.
This time, she glanced at him, her hazel eyes sharp and assessing. “Is it?” Her words were clipped but not unkind—more like a scalpel than a sword.
He shrugged, leaning his head back against the seat. “Sure. I mean, it’s not every day you run into your ex-wife at 30,000 feet.”
Mia’s gaze lingered on him for a moment longer before turning back to her magazine. “Hardly a coincidence when we’re on the same flight.”
Jack chuckled softly. “Fair point. Still, I didn’t exactly plan this.”
“Neither did I,” she replied, her tone laced with a quiet finality that made it clear she wasn’t in the mood for small talk.
Jack wasn’t one to give up so easily, though. He shifted in his seat, angling himself toward her. “So, Paris. Business or pleasure?”
“Business,” she said without looking at him. “And you?”
“Pleasure. Maybe a little business. I’ve got an exhibit opening at a gallery there.”
“Congratulations.” The word was polite but devoid of warmth, as if she were congratulating a stranger on a generic accomplishment.
Her detachment stung more than he’d anticipated. Jack rubbed the back of his neck, searching for something to say that wouldn’t feel like a landmine. “You’re still doing the event planning thing, I take it?”
Mia closed the magazine with a decisive snap and turned to face him fully for the first time. “Yes, I am still doing the ‘event planning thing.’ And you’re still taking photos of beautiful places and pretending it’s enough.”
Ouch. Jack blinked, taken aback by the sharpness of her words. For a second, he thought of deflecting with a joke, but something in her tone stopped him. “Wow. Okay.”
She sighed, her expression softening slightly. “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for.”
“No, it’s fine,” he said, though it wasn’t. “I guess I deserved that.”
The hum of the engines filled the silence between them, a white noise that seemed louder in the wake of their exchange. Jack stared at the seatback in front of him, his fingers drumming lightly against his knee. He’d always been good at deflecting, at turning conversations into jokes or anecdotes, but Mia had a way of cutting through his defenses. She always had.
“Look,” he said after a moment, his voice low, “I didn’t mean to make this weird. I just… I don’t know. It’s been a while.”
“Yes, it has,” she said, her tone softer now. She glanced at him again, her hazel eyes searching his face as if trying to decipher his intentions. “Why Paris?”
Jack hesitated, surprised by the question. “Why not? It’s a beautiful city.”
“That’s not an answer.”
He smiled faintly. “Maybe I wanted to remind myself what beauty looks like.” The words came out quieter, less rehearsed than he’d planned, and he felt the weight of them settle between them.
Mia’s gaze flickered to his camera bag, then back to his face. “And did you find it?”
“Not yet,” he admitted, his voice quieter still. “But the day’s young.”
Before she could respond, the plane shuddered, a sudden jolt that sent a ripple of tension through the cabin. Mia’s hand shot out instinctively, gripping the armrest between them. Jack felt the jolt too, but his attention was fixed on her. For the first time since they’d boarded, her composure cracked, and he saw something raw and unguarded in her expression.
“You okay?” he asked, his voice steady.
She nodded quickly, her knuckles white against the armrest. “It’s just turbulence. Nothing to worry about.”
“Right,” he said, though he could see the tension in her jaw, the way her breath came a little faster. Without thinking, he reached out and placed his hand over hers, a grounding gesture meant to reassure. Her skin was warm, her pulse quick beneath his fingers.
Mia looked down at their hands, her eyes widening slightly. For a moment, she didn’t pull away, and Jack felt a flicker of something he hadn’t felt in years—a connection, fragile but real.
His thumb brushed gently against her hand, and he felt her pulse slow ever so slightly. “See? Just a bump in the road,” he said softly, his voice almost teasing but colored with something deeper.
She looked up at him, her expression unreadable, then withdrew her hand quickly, her walls snapping back into place. She adjusted the pocket watch on her necklace, her fingers brushing over the smooth silver surface. “Thank you,” she said stiffly, smoothing her blazer as if to erase the moment.
Jack leaned back, giving her space. “Anytime.”
The rest of the flight passed in a strained silence, each of them retreating into their own thoughts. Jack stared out the window, watching the clouds roll by, while Mia returned to her magazine, though she barely turned a page. The weight of unspoken words hung between them, heavier than the plane itself.
As the captain’s voice crackled over the intercom, announcing their impending landing, Jack stole another glance at Mia. She was staring straight ahead, her jaw set with a determination that he recognized all too well. She was bracing herself again, not for the landing but for whatever came next.
Jack sighed, running a hand through his tousled hair. This wasn’t how he’d imagined seeing her again—not that he’d ever allowed himself to imagine it. But now that she was here, so close and yet so far, he couldn’t shake the feeling that fate—or something like it—was at work. Henri’s words from the cab replayed in his mind: Paris always helps people find their way.
And if that was true, then maybe, just maybe, this flight wasn’t the end of their story. Maybe it was the beginning of something new.
Or at least, that’s what he told himself as the plane descended, the city of London sprawling beneath them like an unfinished photograph waiting to be developed.
