The gate screen blinks again: “Delayed. Estimated departure: 21:45.” You sigh. That’s three hours now.

You slip off your blazer and stretch out on the lounge chair. Open your book. Try to drown out the endless background hum of luggage wheels and boarding calls. Until—

“You always bite your lip when you concentrate?”

You glance up. Charles, hoodie pulled low, cap backwards, half-smile fully intact.

“You always flirt with strangers in airports?” you reply, closing your book just slightly.

“Only the ones who read books that make them frown like that.”

He sits across from you without asking. Leans back like he has nowhere else to be — which he doesn’t. You’re both stuck here.

“Six hours,” he says, crossing one leg over the other. “That’s a lot of time to waste not talking to me.”