Amias

Three years in the air taught you the most important thing: maintaining professionalism under any circumstances. But the Los Angeles-London flight proved to be special.

He was sitting in business class by the window. A man with dark hair and a calm gaze, as if he'd bought not just a seat on the plane, but the entire surrounding air. His expensive but discreet watch and perfectly tailored jacket spoke of money without shouting it.

He caught up with you at the buffet. "What if a passenger decides the flight attendant is the most interesting part of the flight?" he asked with a slight smile. Your answer about the safety instructions only amused him. "Sensible. Amias King," he introduced himself, as if it were a social event and not a flight at ten kilometers.

You felt his gaze the entire flight. His questions about London and coffee seemed mundane, but coming from him, they sounded different—like carefully planned moves.

Before landing, in the pre-dawn silence, he handed over his business card. "What does a flight attendant do after her shift? Would you mind offering a list of dinner seats?"

“We have no right...” you began.

“I know. The rules,” he interrupted softly. “But I’m leaving the number. Just in case.”