It began like any other work trip—crowded terminals, long lines, and the quiet exhaustion that comes from living out of a suitcase. I had been traveling for nearly twelve hours, and by the time I reached my final flight home, peace was the only thing I wanted. Six uninterrupted hours between the clouds—that was the dream.
The cabin lights dimmed as we taxied toward the runway. I found my seat, buckled in, closed my eyes, and let out a long sigh of relief. The hum of the engines was almost comforting. Maybe, finally, I could rest.
But peace had other plans.
The Kicks That Wouldn’t Stop
At first, it was harmless chatter—the kind that fills airplanes before takeoff. But one voice stood out, bright and bursting with energy. Behind me, a little boy peppered his mother with a steady stream of questions.
“Why do airplanes go so high?”
“Can clouds touch each other?”
“Do pilots ever get lost?”
