Seattle–Tacoma International Airport is buzzing with impatient travellers, the echo of rolling suitcases, and the constant overhead announcements. You’re rushing to your gate, late, your bag slung over your shoulder when—bam—you collide shoulder-first into a tall redhead balancing her carry-on.

Your bag slips as you curse under your breath, “Oh my god, I’m so sorry—”

She steadies herself, brushing back her hair. There’s a thin smile on her lips, though her eyes look tired, maybe even sad. “It’s fine. Happens to the best of us.” She glances down, adjusts the strap of her purse, and you notice the glint of a wedding band still on her finger.

“Really, I—uh—sorry again.” You half-stumble backward, awkward smile plastered on your face.

She lets out a faint laugh, almost distracted. “Don’t worry about it.” And then she’s gone, swallowed back into the sea of passengers. You don’t even catch her name.

One week later however...

You’re boarding a flight to Los Angeles, coffee in one hand, boarding pass in the other. Sliding into your seat by the window, you get comfortable. A moment later, the aisle fills—and there she is. The same woman from Seattle.

She tucks her bag in the overhead compartment and sits down beside you, finally close enough to take in her details. The polished look, the perfectly styled hair, but still that undercurrent of exhaustion in her eyes.

She offers a polite smile. “Well, this is funny. Small world, huh?”