FICTION

The Shirt Collar Was Twisted

I glanced behind me and saw her smile, as if she had something to say.

I was standing in the check-in queue when I felt a hand on my collar at the back of my neck. It felt like diligent fingers were fixing the collar and folding it down properly.

I wanted to turn around, but the lady at the counter looked seriously at me and reached out for my hand holding the boarding pass. I handed her the pass, then stepped forward and turned around. I glanced behind me and saw her smile, as if she had something to say. She smiled as I touched my neck, but I couldn’t linger at the check-point counter. I had to keep moving.

As we reached the bridge that led to the plane entrance, we paused, and I heard her comment on my shirt collar. It was crooked.

I walked on, then stopped, turned fully, and saw her coming through the checkpoint. She started walking down towards me. I stood still, watching her as she held my gaze and moved to my side, and then I started walking calmly down the corridor.

As we reached the entrance of the plane, a flight attendant stood there, welcoming us aboard. I moved past her in the aisle and found our seats—two in the third row. I noticed there was space in the overhead bin for my bag and hers. So, I sat down, quickly turned, and gestured to her, looking at the empty seat next to me. She placed her bag in the bin, and we sat down simultaneously, next to each other.

I sat there, tense. I realized my heart was racing as I glanced at her. Her face was turned towards me, bathed in sunlight. The plane was almost ready for London. The cabin crew was busy with the usual procedures, demonstrating how to fasten the seatbelt.

We exchanged smiles while listening to the instructions. The flight attendant’s voice over the loudspeaker cut off my words. Then there was silence.

I sat, looking straight ahead. She glanced at me, and I saw her starting to doze off. “Thank you for fixing..." I gestured towards my collar.

She smiled. “It was a bit off,” she said. “I hope you didn’t mind. I just couldn’t help myself.”

Her words were just loud enough for me to hear without reaching the ears of those around us. I thought about how much I liked her voice, her manner, everything about her.

Sitting stiffly, I awaited the captain’s signal for full throttle. My hand was resting on the armrest between our seats. The plane jolted slightly and began to roll forward. Suddenly, I felt her hand on mine. No, she didn’t just place it there; her fingers sought mine, holding my hand. I responded, squeezing gently without turning my head or facing her. I thought, ‘She’s trying to tell me something; she wants something with me.’

“What’s happening?” I wondered as we ascended into the air. Then I heard the two thumps as the wheels retracted. I felt her hand comforting and secure around mine. It dawned on me that we were transitioning to a new place and a new moment. What was this? What did it mean? The sensation of the plane lifting off, combined with the warmth of her hand, created a sense of departure from the ordinary—a journey into something new and unknown.

We soared above the clouds as the plane’s engines quieted down. She held my hand firmly, and I felt relieved. She caressed the back of my hand softly with her index finger from time to time.

“What is your destination?” I asked.

“London,” she replied.

“Business trip?”

“No. And you?”

“Just a trip into the blue,” I answered. “I’ve always wanted to see London. Before I die.”

The last part I didn’t say aloud.

“I’ve planned this for a long time. To see London. I’ve barely been there before.”

“That sounds exciting.”

We didn’t speak for a while. I didn’t think about anything either. Is it even possible to think about nothing? Aren’t we always heading somewhere in our thoughts, always busy with something in our minds? I noticed she was sleeping, sitting straight, relaxed. I thought to myself, ‘How strange this is, how very strange...'

In the quietude that enveloped us, our words hung suspended, like dew-kissed spider silk glistening in the early morning light. We had ceased our conversation, yet the unspoken lingered-a symphony of pauses and ellipses, a language of its own.

Could one genuinely think about nothing? The notion danced on the edge of absurdity, like a tightrope walker defying gravity. Our minds, restless wanderers, perpetually embarked on inner odysseys. Even in stillness, they charted courses, tracing constellations of memories, dreams, and half-formed musings.

And there she sat, a portrait of serenity. Her eyelids, like delicate petals, veiled her gaze. The rhythm of her breath whispered secrets into the room. Was it a dream she chased, or a memory that cradled her? I wondered if her mind, too, was a vessel navigating uncharted waters.

How strange this tableau, where silence spoke volumes. The room held its breath, as if afraid to disturb the delicate equilibrium. I, an observer at the edge of existence, pondered the enigma before me. In that suspended moment, I glimpsed the fragility of our human tapestry-the warp and weft of consciousness, woven with threads of wonder and uncertainty.

And so, I sat there, a fellow traveler in this quietude, contemplating the paradox: to be still yet moving, to be silent yet resonant. In those wordless interludes, we touched the hem of eternity-a place where thoughts dissolved, and existence flowed like a river with no destination.

How very strange, indeed. Feeling a wave of excitement, I leaned forward, still holding her hand tightly. It was comforting-a closeness I hadn’t experienced in an exceptionally long time. I wanted this moment to last, this feeling of calm and security when I thought of her. I hoped she wouldn’t slip away from me.

Suddenly, we both turned our faces towards the each other in a perfectly synchronized and comical manner, bursting into laughter together. Before I could speak, I asked her, “Have you been on a holiday?”

“Yes, in a way,” she replied. “A bit of a holiday, a bit of work, a project.”

“And what kind of project is that?”

“It’s about understanding the world we live in. It must be beautiful, something different, where people can be happy.”

“That sounds fascinating,” I said. “Is it architecture, or perhaps something to do with art?”

“Maybe,” she answered. “Maybe it’s about the art of living.” And then, as I wondered, she added, “It’s special. It’s about finding and seeing the beauty in people. When we step out of each other’s shadows, we become visible to one another.”

“Yes,” I agreed, thinking that’s exactly what was happening right now. The beauty in other people is always potentially there, ready to evolve into something more.

The flight attendant passed by with her cart, looking up at us with a smile.

“Champagne, please. Or Prosecco,” I said. The attendant smiled and served us two small bottles and plastic glasses, along with some salty crackers. I set one of the bottles and a glass on her tray table. She smiled at me and said, “Oh, that’s kind. Thank you!”

This simple, shared moment encapsulated the entire essence of our interaction-a discovery of beauty and connection in the most unexpected of places.