Chapter 2: Ryan

Amidst the whirlwind of the airport terminal, and lost in my thoughts, I found myself isolated, a solitary figure lost in a sea of hurried souls. The terminal was loud. Too loud for my taste – travelers scuttling, the clatter of luggage, and the blaring of announcements in the background, all merging into a cacophony of existence.

Returning from a brief visit with friends, my early departure carried a bitter undertone. The recent disagreement with them lingered, and my anger rose every time I thought about it. How can it be that I come solely to visit them, whom I hadn’t seen for YEARS, and they act as if I’m an inconvenience, and leave me hanging? Heck, they spent 2 hours with me in the entire week I was there! And all the while planning, they had promised I could stay at their place and that they would show me around! What nerve! With friends like these!

Now I’ve got to spend the rest of my holidays at home with my family. How am I ever going to experience something in life? What a mess! I can’t even go back home, since I promised my apartment to my best friend for the month.

Anyway, “focus on something else,” I tell myself and take some deep breaths. It can’t get worse than this after all.

SMACK!

Of course it can.

A girl crashes into me, almost cinematically spilling ice-cold water onto my shirt and tripping over my bag. I manage to spin her around and catch her. It takes a second to realize what had happened and jerk back.

“Hey!” I shout, my own frustration making it louder than it should’ve been, while heads all around turn to watch the disaster. “Can’t you watch where you’re going!”

Amidst her profuse apologies and her attempt to remedy the situation with a tissue, which was doing more harm than good, I felt my anger bubble.

“You’re not exactly helping,” I retorted angrily, pushing her hand away from me, but more annoyed at everything in general than at her.

Her cheeks tinged with a deeper shade of embarrassment, a blend of guilt and mortification painting her features. Her frantic efforts to apologize only amplified the awkwardness of the situation, yet there was an endearing quality to her genuine attempts to make amends.

As she scrambled to collect her belongings, a book slipped from her grasp. Without thinking, I stooped to retrieve it, the cover drawing my attention. It was a title I recognized, my favorite book. A faint smile played at the corners of my lips, my anger retreating a little.

“Good taste,” I commented, but before I could finish speaking, she was gone, running down the airport.