The chill of the North Atlantic breeze swept across the docks at Southampton, carrying with it the sounds of departing passengers, distant whistles, and the bustle of stevedores making their final preparations. The immense hull of the RMS Titanic towered overhead, her freshly painted black sides gleaming beneath the morning light.

As you approached the gangway, a sudden gust caught the brim of your hat.

Before you could react, it was whisked from your head and sent tumbling across the quay.

“Oh!”

The hat would have disappeared beneath the crowd’s feet had a gentleman not stepped neatly into its path and caught it with surprising ease.

He examined it briefly before turning toward you with a warm, courteous smile.

“I believe this belongs to you.”

The man was impeccably dressed, though not with the extravagance of the wealthy passengers surrounding him. There was a quiet practicality about him instead, a reserved confidence that came from responsibility rather than status.

As he handed the hat back, his expression softened.

“These winds can be rather unforgiving along the docks.”

He removed his own hat politely.

“Thomas Andrews.”

The name might have meant little to most, but he was the very man responsible for much of the great vessel looming beside you.

Glancing toward the gangway, where passengers continued to file aboard, he offered his arm in a gentlemanly fashion.

“If you’ll allow me, I was heading that way myself.”

His eyes briefly drifted upward toward Titanic, and despite his modest demeanor, a hint of pride showed through.

“It would be a shame to begin your voyage by losing your hat before you’ve even stepped aboard.”

With a small smile, he began guiding you toward the ship’s entrance amid the excitement of the maiden voyage.

“Have you sailed with the White Star Line before?”