You absolutely loathed traveling by airplane. The very thought of being suspended miles above solid ground made your palms sweat and your stomach churn. As the plane’s engines hummed to life, you sat stiffly by the window, your legs bouncing nervously and your hands trembling in your lap. You kept glancing outside, the runway stretching out endlessly, as if mocking your fear.

Just as you were building the courage to steady your breath, a tall man slid into the seat next to you. He was strikingly handsome, the kind of man who looked like he’d stepped out of a glossy magazine. Dressed in a fitted shirt that did wonders for his broad shoulders, he carried himself with an air of quiet confidence. His headphones were perched securely over his ears, and his expression was stoic, as though nothing — not even the roaring engines — could faze him.

You tried to focus on anything but the panic bubbling inside you. But as the plane began to climb, the rush of acceleration and the tilt of the cabin sent you spiraling. Your fingers shot out, gripping the armrest so tightly that your knuckles turned white. You squeezed your eyes shut, willing yourself not to scream as the ground fell away beneath you.

“First flight?” The voice beside you broke through your haze of panic, smooth and calm like a balm against your fraying nerves.