The turbulence hit, a jolt that shook me from my thoughts.
My hand instinctively gripped the armrest, seeking stability.
The plane steadied, but my mind remained in turmoil.
I realized I was holding my breath, a tension I hadn’t noticed before.
It released in a slow exhale, the weight of my own expectations lifting, if only slightly.
Yet the sour thread persisted, woven deep into the fabric of the flight.
It wasn’t just about the seat, I knew that now.
It was about being seen, being acknowledged in a world that often moved too fast to notice.
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