The pilot hits the gas, or whatever itâs called in a plane, and we start to speed down the runway.
I know the jostling is normal, but I still hate it.
Rather than turning my head to look out the window at my side, I close my eyes and think about Hans and that kiss we shared.
We might not be people who kiss when they see each other, but it turns out weâre people who kiss when they part ways.
Hans wouldâve made it back home already. I wonder if he went back to sleep or if he stayed up to start his own workday.