Their legs intertwined, one on top of the other, fitting perfectly. They were beautiful together. Light streamed into the window onto her face. Indeed, he could see that she was statuesque; the act of observing her made him feel calm. He looked deep beyond her skin, her veins were green. They met under rather unusual circumstances. She took the same plane to the same destination on the same flight every week where he was the pilot.
One day he decided to ask her. “Why do you always fly on the same flight? What do you do?”
“I write. I love writing when I’m on the plane. My mind is clear; I have only the destination and my story to look forward to. I take the flight with the least number of passengers, so I can sit alone and write, uninterrupted.” She replied nonchalantly.
“Actually, I’ve come to learn something about pilots.”
He smiled and said “Oh, and what did you learn?”
“Pilots must be such lonely people, flying in and out of worlds for most of their lives but never really partaking. Or perhaps pilots are loners, and therefore they choose to fly.”
