Page 65 of When Worlds Collide (Between Worlds #2)

“ L adies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking and on behalf of myself and the crew, I’d like to welcome you aboard this flight to London Heathrow.

“We’ll be departing shortly, so please ensure your seatbelt is fastened, your seatback is upright, and your tray table is stowed.

“The flight time today is approximately eleven hours and forty-five minutes, and we’re expecting relatively smooth conditions for most of the journey.

“We do ask that you remain seated as much as possible and observe all onboard health protocols during the flight.

“We know travel might look a little different right now, but we thank you for flying with us, and we hope to make your journey a comfortable one.”

The speaker clicked off, leaving only the hush of quiet voices and the distant crackle of plastic packaging.

I’d expected the plane to be crammed – Friday flights always were – but today it seemed barely half full.

Maybe that was just due to how every other seat had been left empty so as to separate groups not travelling together.

They were calling it ‘social distancing’.

I wondered how it could be social, if it was distanced.

Safety guidelines had been papered up at regular intervals along the plane’s interior, detailing proper hand-washing technique, and using a tissue to cough into.

It would have been comical, if the backdrop hadn’t been a crowd of people all wearing surgical masks.

Instead, the effect was dystopian, and not a little bit frightening.

I’d had to fight off the sense of déjà vu as I followed the attendant down the aisle, passing the closed compartments.

Before, most people had kept them open while we’d been on the ground.

People had been happily chatting in between, calling over other attendants.

It'd had an almost festival- like vibe. Now, all the compartments were closed up, and the only other attendants in view bustled up and down the aisle, wearing masks and gloves. It was more like a hospital ward.

“If you need anything, please do not hesitate to press your call button.” The attendant said, before bustling away. He closed the door to my compartment for me.

Shut away in my little pod, I took a moment to take it in. It was just as I remembered.

The small cupboard where I’d laughingly stored my beat-up little dinosaur rucksack, the shelf with all the sample-sized cosmetics, and a wrapped set of pyjamas, down to the pocket-doors that closed me off from the rest of the cabin.

There was a sense of comfort to see the complimentary toiletries had not changed: An assortment of skin creams, toothpaste, even a sample bottle of perfume.

But I noticed there was also a little zip up containing a sterile wrapped mask, gloves, and a small bottle of alcohol gel. Complimentary health precautions.

Seeing that little pouch side-by-side with all the same sample cosmetics I’d gotten on my first trip in first class brought a lump to my throat.

So much was the same, so how was it that everything was different?

I leaned back in my padded seat, looking out of the window. It faced onto the terminal and I couldn’t help but wonder if Jihoon was still in there, maybe looking out of a window to where I sat.

My chin trembled, and it was like the first crack in the wall I’d built brick by brick since the alarm had gone off this morning.

My foundations were shaken to the core, and as I lay my head back, I allowed the first tear to fall; for all the could-have-beens and maybe-never-would-bes.

I remembered that day in January, so many weeks ago when he’d told me he’d be bringing me on tour with him.

“I can’t be without you again.”

Only now, it was me leaving for an indeterminate amount of time.

I felt like I was breaking a promise to him. I felt like I was breaking something in myself, but there really was no choice. Leaving was unbearable, but not leaving was unfathomable – I hadn’t needed Becka to remind me of that. Not really.

I knew the final image of him would live in my head. He hadn’t even tried to hide his emotions. Where I had tried to be stoic, he put it out there for the both of us.

I’d needed to keep it together, because I’d been so afraid that if I broke, I would have begged him to take me back to our apartment, and I’d never again work up the courage to leave. It had been on the tip of my tongue the entire drive here.

I’d walked through the gate to security and looked back, just once. And nearly broke.

I didn’t need to see his face under the cap and hoodie he’d worn. I saw his grief in the way his shoulders shook, unapologetically in that enormous hall, people streaming past. And I’d almost run right back to him.

I wanted to say that we’d get through this. That I’d see my mum well, the virus would blow over, and I’d be back in Seoul by the summer, in time to join GVibes on what would probably be their last big tour before their military enlistments.

I had wanted to say all that.

“Cabin crew, arm doors and cross check, thank you.” A practised voice came over the intercom a moment before the mechanical clicks and bolts followed that told me they were done.

I was locked in. My agency was now in the hands of the airline and the time for me to…

to do what? Run off the plane? I didn’t even know, but it was gone.

The plane juddered, that forward motion as the aircraft is thrown into reverse, and I saw the terminal go out of my view as we pulled away.

Moments later, we began to taxi down the runway, a gentle but consistent speed, and the lights in the cabin began to dim.

The plane paused, a holding position like it was having second thoughts.

And then, the gunning of the engine, a thrum that built to a steady crescendo as we held there.

“Cabin crew, please take your seats and prepare for take-off.”

I was pulled back against my seat, the forward momentum of the plane racing down the runway at 200mph holding me tightly. The frenetic pulse of the engines thrumming under my feet until – airborne. That strange moment of weightlessness as we climbed higher, and higher leaving Seoul behind us.

I had just a moment to turn my head, to look out of the window to see it for the last time.

Below, the city shined, scattered hues of silver and gold brightly delineating the grid patterns of the city.

And then, we broke through the clouds and I could no longer see Seoul, though I tried. It seemed Korea had one last surprise for me: the first glimmers of pink and orange as they burst across the clouds, chasing away the dim light of the pre-dawn’s shadows.

Seoul’s last gift to me.