33,000 Feet

The plane hummed beneath Mira’s feet, and settled into her bones like a mechanical lullaby she wished would drown out her thoughts. The cabin was already warming up with the steady trickle of weary passengers, the 40-degree outside fading into a memory.

She fiddled with the air vent overhead, trying to get a little “fresh” air. No luck. She sighed, and tugged her oversized hoodie tighter around her frame.

She had the window seat this time. A small mercy in an otherwise exhausting morning. The ticket was cheap, which meant the legroom was nonexistent and if she wasn't lucky she'd be folding in on herself to avoid being partially in someone's lap.

She couldn't handle company this early. A red-eye flight from LAX to Portland wasn't uncommon by any means, but she still silently prayed that the seat next to her would remain empty.

As the flow of travellers started to end, it seemed for the briefest of moments like her prayers had been answered.

Then someone abruptly dropped into the seat beside her, just as the last few stragglers boarded. Mira caught a glimpse of long, denim-clad legs before she turned back to the window to watch the airport slowly come to life around them.

"You fly often?"

The voice startled her—low, warm, and threaded with the unhurried confidence of someone who didn’t mind chatting up an essentially trapped stranger. Mira glanced sideways. The woman beside her was casually adjusting her seatbelt, but her green eyes were on Mira. She had one eyebrow raised in a playful challenge, like she’d already clocked her as not being a fan of small talk, but she was going to try anyway.

Mira considered lying. Maybe say she flew weekly, and this was such a normal and boring part of her life that she didn't want to elaborate on it. Anything to shut down further conversation.

"No," she said, settling on a half-truth. "Not if I can help it."

Not anymore at least.

"Ah. Scared of flying?" The stranger—thick dark curls tucked under a backwards baseball cap, her leather jacket heavily worn and softened at the seams—grinned impishly. "Gonna need me to hold your hand when we take off?"

Mira scoffed and started to turn back. "Not unless you want broken fingers."

"Noted." The woman extended her hand, palm up, like it was an offering. "Jamie."

Mira hesitated. A second passed—long enough to wonder if she should be wary, but not long enough to make things awkward. She shot another glance towards her new, admittedly attractive, companion before she reluctantly shook. "Mira."

The plane finally started to taxi away from the gate, bringing their collected attention to the exhausted flight attendant who was halfheartedly donning a life vest. Jamie settled in like they had all the time in the world, flipping through the safety pamphlet with idle curiosity.

Mira watched her out of the corner of her eye. There was something unbothered about Jamie—like turbulence wouldn’t even register, like she belonged nowhere and everywhere at once.

"You from Portland or just a layover?" Jamie asked while folding the pamphlet into an elaborate origami crane.

"Layover." Mira exhaled. "Seattle after that. Which is home, I guess."

"You don’t sound convinced."

She wasn't. The trip had been last-minute—a funeral, one she knew was coming for years but never knew how she'd handle it when it finally happened. It'd be a week spent watching as childhood ghosts press their faces against the glass of her memories. All before slipping back to LA before her family started trying to act like family again. "It’s… complicated."

Jamie hummed like she understood. At least enough to not pry. "I get that. I’m headed to Portland. First time visiting."

"Business or pleasure?"

"Soul-searching. I just wanted to see what it’s like, honestly." Jamie shrugged, her face becoming more sombre. "I try to go places I’ve never been. Helps me feel less…" She trailed off, rolling her wrist in a vague motion, like she was trying to pluck the right word from thin air.

"Rooted?" Mira offered.

Jamie snapped her fingers, her grin returning quickly. "Yeah. Exactly."

Mira turned and pressed her forehead against the window, watching the tarmac steadily pass as they waited to take off. "I think I used to want that. To never be tied down. Now it just sounds exhausting."

Jamie studied her. "So you’re looking for something solid? Secure?"

Mira didn’t answer right away. It was a little too much insight for someone she had met five minutes ago. But maybe that’s the magic of planes—conversations that exist in a liminal space, untethered from the world below. A few hours in a flying death trap next to a stranger you'll never see again. Not the worst confessional.

"Yeah," she said finally. "Something like that."

Jamie nodded, thoughtful. "You know, I always figured life is really just a series of layovers. No point in getting too comfortable anywhere."

Mira couldn't help but turn back and smirk at the cliche. "That sounds like something someone says before accidentally falling in love and building a life somewhere before pretending that was the plan all along."

Jamie laughed, a quiet, genuine sound that Mira felt in her chest. "You saying I look like a hopeless romantic?"

"Maybe. Hopeless romantics do offer to hold a stranger's hand."

Jamie winked at her. "Only the pretty strangers. Guess I’ll have to let you know if you’re right."

Mira felt her face grow a little hotter as she tried to find a reply. “Did you jus–”

The plane suddenly jerked forward, slamming her back into the seat. Her hand instinctively shot out and clutched at the closest stable object. Her brain lagged slightly as the cool, hard plastic that she had expected was replaced with something warm and soft.

A calm pulse drummed beneath her fingertips, drawing her eyes to the armrest. The sight of her hand in Jamie's was as embarrassing as it was comforting.

“I'm so sorry!” She started to pull her hand away. A small squeeze stopped her.

Jamie waved her off. “Don't worry about it. Guess I got what I asked for after all.” Her cocky smirk filled Mira’s brain with static and gay panic.

Mira didn't know why she said it—maybe it was the altitude change, or the fact that Jamie felt like a possibility she wasn’t expecting—but she looked her over, one corner of her mouth quirking up.

"I wouldn’t mind some company during my layover. If you're okay being tied down for a little bit."

Jamie stared at her in surprise, eyes bright with something Mira couldn’t quite name yet. She feared for a second she might have made the next few hours a nightmare before hearing an almost nervous, "I don't think I'd mind that."

As the plane hummed along, Mira considered that maybe Jamie was right–life was just a series of layovers. But sitting here, hand still resting in Jamie's, she wasn't in a rush to catch the next flight.