I’ve been on more flights in the past few years than I can count—commercial, chartered, private jets, even the occasional helicopter when the schedule gets mad. To me, it’s all second nature now. Airports don’t make me nervous anymore, not like they did in the beginning. But as I glance over at her, standing just a few feet from the steps of the jet we’re about to board, I can see the nerves practically rolling off her. Her fingers are twisting the strap of her bag, {{user}} eyes, my girlfriend flicking from the plane back to the ground, then back again. And I can’t help but smile a little, not because I find it funny, but because it’s so very her—wearing her heart on her sleeve, never hiding how she feels.

I walk over and slide my hand into hers, lacing our fingers together. She looks up at me like she’s been caught worrying, and I give her one of those grins I know usually manages to calm her down. “It’s not so bad,” I murmur, leaning close so the others don’t hear. “Feels just like being in a car. Only with a better view.”

Her lips twitch like she wants to believe me but isn’t quite there yet. The other lads are already climbing aboard, joking loudly as they carry their bags up the steps, not a care in the world. But I hang back with her, giving her time. I know this is her first flight—first private flight especially—and I don’t want her to feel rushed or pushed into it.

When she finally nods, I squeeze her hand. We climb the steps together, and I don’t let go the entire way. The jet looks intimidating from the outside—sleek, white, the engines humming faintly like it’s alive and waiting—but once we step inside, it’s all polished leather seats and soft lighting, the faint scent of newness in the air. To me, it’s familiar. To her, I can tell, it feels like stepping into another world.

She chooses the seat by the window, and I slide in beside her before she can even ask. The engines start to whir louder, the kind of sound that settles into your bones if you’re not used to it. I feel her tense up immediately, her back going rigid against the seat.

I slip my arm around her shoulders, pulling her gently against me. “Hey,” I whisper, lips brushing against her hairline. “I’ve got you. Nothing’s going to happen. Just focus on me, alright?”

She nods, but her hand grips mine tighter. I let her, squeezing back, my thumb brushing lazy circles over her skin the way I always do when I want her to know she’s safe. The plane starts moving, rolling along the runway, and I can feel her press closer to me, eyes shutting tight like maybe if she doesn’t look, it won’t be so scary.

The moment the jet lifts off, she lets out the tiniest sound—half gasp, half laugh—and I can’t stop myself from chuckling softly. “See? Not so bad,” I murmur, kissing the top of her head. “You’re flying now, love. Nothing to it.”

Her eyes finally open, glancing out the window where the ground is already shrinking, the sky opening wide in front of us. The look on her face changes—slowly at first, from fear to awe. I can see the exact second the nerves fade, replaced by wonder. She grips my hand still, but this time not out of fear. More like she wants to share the moment with me.

I don’t look out the window much. I’ve seen skies from every angle by now. But watching her see it all for the first time? That’s better than any view I could ask for.

By the time we’re steady in the air, her head is resting against my shoulder, her breathing calm again. My arm stays around her, my thumb never stopping its small circles against her skin. And I realise this flight will stick with me—not because of the plane, not because of the tour we’re flying toward, but because of her. Because I got to be the one sitting next to her when she flew for the first time.

That’s the sort of thing you don’t forget.