Orla:

I was startled awake by the gentle nudge of a flight attendant, the soft chime of the seatbelt sign accompanying her quiet words. Blinking away the remnants of sleep, I couldn’t believe I had actually dozed off. With everything that had happened, sleep seemed impossible, yet here I was, waking up mid-flight.

I adjusted in my seat, trying to remember how I’d managed to drift off. That’s when I realized—the guy seated next to me had somehow eased the tension last night. There was something about him, something comforting in his presence that had allowed me to let my guard down, even just for a little while.

I turned my head, and as I did, he greeted me with a wide smile, his eyes warm and friendly. It was a smile that reached his eyes, softening the young features of his face.

He had the kind of look that was hard to ignore—soft, youthful features accentuated by perfectly smooth skin, almost flawless in the dim cabin light. His prominent brow-line drew attention to his sharp, expressive eyes, while his bleached-blond two-block haircut framed his face in a way that made him seem both effortlessly stylish and approachable.

A sprinkle of freckles dusted his high cheekbones, adding a touch of boyish charm to his otherwise sleek appearance. His stature seemed lean and compact, the kind of build that spoke of athleticism without being overly imposing. He was dressed casually in slim gray joggers and a black knitted oversized crew neck sweater, the outfit simple yet put together in a way that complemented his overall look.

There was a certain ease about him, a relaxed vibe that made me feel like I wasn’t alone in this. Like maybe, despite everything, things might just be okay.

Milo’s smile widened as he leaned in slightly. “Good morning,” he said, his voice deep and smooth.

I blinked, still shaking off the last traces of sleep. “Morning,” I replied, glancing at him curiously. “Did you sleep at all?”

He chuckled softly, shrugging. “A little, maybe. Not much, though.”

I wasn’t sure whether to believe him—he seemed so awake, so put together. Meanwhile, I felt like I’d barely slept at all, yet somehow, I was more rested than I had been in days.

Before I could say anything else, the flight attendant appeared again, this time with trays in hand. “Would you care for breakfast?” she asked, her tone polite and practiced.

I nodded, and soon enough, a tray of food was placed before me. It was nothing like the usual airplane fare—this was first-class dining at its finest. A delicate arrangement of fresh fruit, warm croissants, scrambled eggs with smoked salmon, and a small glass of freshly squeezed orange juice. Everything looked meticulously prepared, almost too pretty to eat.

Milo received the same, and I noticed him glance over at my tray, a playful smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Looks like we’re in for a treat,” he said, picking up his fork.

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I managed a small smile in return, momentarily distracted by the elegance of the meal. It was such a stark contrast to everything that had happened before this flight. For a brief moment, it almost felt like things were normal again, like we were just two strangers enjoying a fancy breakfast on a routine flight.

I picked up my spoon, ready to dive into the colorful fruits laid out before me. But as I brought the spoon closer, I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the polished surface. My heart sank. The image staring back at me was a far cry from the polished bride I had been just hours ago.

The mascara was smudged under my eyes, giving me a raccoon-like appearance. My hair, which had once been meticulously styled, was now a tangled mess, with loose strands escaping every which way. The elegant side braid had frazzled into something unrecognizable. The realization hit me hard, especially now that the cabin was so brightly lit.

Mortified, I turned to Milo, my voice barely above a whisper. “How long have I looked like this?”

He paused, smirking. “Since you boarded.”

“Oh God,” I muttered, sinking into my seat as the full weight of my situation hit me. I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks, embarrassment washing over me in waves. I needed to get out of here, to fix myself up—anything to feel a little less exposed.

Suddenly, the weight of the wedding dress became all too real. The layers of fabric that had felt like a burden before were now practically suffocating me. I needed to make a break for the bathroom, but the thought of navigating the narrow aisle in this dress was daunting.

Taking a deep breath, I looked at Milo, trying to muster some dignity. “I… I need to go freshen up.”

He nodded, a hint of understanding in his eyes.

I carefully pushed my tray aside and struggled to stand. The cumbersome dress made it awkward, but I managed to gather the fabric in my arms and make my way down the aisle, feeling every eye on me as I moved.

In the cramped bathroom, I leaned over the tiny sink, splashing cold water on my face in a desperate attempt to clear my head. As I wiped away the smudged mascara with a rough paper towel, I caught sight of my reflection in the mirror. The woman staring back at me was a mess—puffy eyes, tangled hair, and a wedding dress that looked more like a crumpled sheets of toilet paper than the elegant gown it once was.

Over it all, I still had the oversized black hoodie draped awkwardly over my dress. I tugged it tighter around me, trying to smooth down the front of the dress underneath, but it didn’t make much of a difference. The hood was my only comfort now, so I pulled it up over my head, hoping it would shield me from the world just a little bit more.

I couldn’t help but think about how ridiculous I must have looked, sitting next to Milo. He was so put-together, with his smooth skin, stylish haircut, and that easy smile. Meanwhile, I was the poster child for a runaway bride—disheveled, frantic, and utterly lost. How had I ended up here, in this tiny bathroom, trying to pull myself together after the disaster that was supposed to be my wedding day?

My life felt like a train wreck, one I couldn’t look away from. The more I tried to piece things back together, the more they seemed to fall apart. And now, to top it all off, I was stuck on a plane, looking like I’d just stepped out of a horror movie, in front of the most attractive, composed guy I’d met in a long time. It was like being in a nightmare all over again. No matter how hard I tried to escape it, the mess just kept following me. I could feel the tears threatening to spill over, but I swallowed them back, determined not to break down in this tiny, fluorescent-lit space. I wished I had sunglasses or, even better, a mask to hide behind. Anything to cover up the disaster I’d become.

I took a deep breath, smoothing down the front of my dress again as best as I could under the hoodie. It wasn’t much, but it would have to do. I couldn’t hide in here forever. With one last glance in the mirror, I squared my shoulders, pulling the hood a little tighter over my head, and prepared to face the world outside the bathroom door—even if that world was just the inside of a plane.