Terminal Velocity of the Heart

The roar of the jets was a constant hum, a background track to the chaos of gate B12. I was a mess of frayed nerves and tangled hair, desperately trying to shove my laptop into an overstuffed backpack. Saying goodbye to Liam was already tearing me apart, and the added stress of potentially missing my flight to London wasn't helping. He was standing right there, his eyes, the color of warm honey, reflecting the terminal lights. He reached out, gently tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear. "You've got this," he murmured, his voice a soothing balm against the airport's frenzy. "Just breathe. I'll be here when you get back." It was a promise, a fragile thread connecting us across the Atlantic.

I finally made it through security, slightly disheveled but relatively unscathed. Settling into my uncomfortable airplane seat, I reached into my bag for the small, worn leather journal Liam had given me on our first date. It wasn't there. Panic flared in my chest. That journal wasn't just paper and ink; it was a tangible piece of our history, filled with inside jokes, shared dreams, and handwritten notes from our whirlwind summer romance. I frantically rummaged through every pocket, every compartment. Nothing.

Despair threatened to overwhelm me. The plane hadn't even taken off, and already I felt a gaping hole in my heart. I had to try. I bolted out of my seat, ignoring the startled looks of my fellow passengers, and raced back towards the gate. Liam was gone. The gate agent, a woman with a nametag that read 'Brenda,' looked at me with weary amusement. "Ma'am, your flight is boarding. Is there a problem?"

"I lost something," I blurted out, my voice trembling. "A journal. It's really important. I think I left it near the gate." Brenda sighed, but I could see a flicker of empathy in her eyes. "Alright, let's see what we can do. Describe it to me." I did, pouring out the significance of the journal, the memories it held, the connection it represented. Brenda radioed someone, her brow furrowed in concentration. After what felt like an eternity, she looked up, her face softening. "Someone found it. A young man. He left it with lost and found, said it belonged to a girl with beautiful eyes heading to London. Said he'd wait for you to come back for it." My breath caught in my throat. Liam. He knew. He understood. He hadn't just waited; he'd acted. I thanked Brenda profusely, tears welling in my eyes. Rushing to the lost and found, I clutched the journal to my chest, its familiar scent of old paper and leather filling my senses. I knew, in that moment, that this long-distance thing, this terrifying leap of faith, was worth it. Because somewhere, across the ocean, a pair of honey-colored eyes were waiting, filled with the same hope and anticipation as mine. I sent Liam a text: "Journal found. Thank you. See you soon."

His reply was immediate: "Safe travels. Can't wait."