‘Do you think this is a mistake?’ I ask her.
She doesn’t look up from her screen for a long moment. Then, she says, ‘Probably. But staying home was also a mistake. At least this is a new one.’
There’s an announcement and boarding begins for our flight. First and business class first. Families first. Then Zones A and B.
Aditi closes her Kindle. ‘Window or aisle?’ she asks, her voice low.
I see her scared. I feel it too.
‘I know what you’re thinking,’ she says.
‘What?’
Her voice is now a soft whisper. ‘That what would it be like for this plane to crash? For us to die?’
She’s right. ‘What would it be like?’
‘It would be freedom.’
‘But I’m not wishing for it,’ I say.
‘Neither am I,’ she says. ‘There are children on the flight.’
‘And people,’ I add. ‘And people waiting on the other side. People going back home thinking their families will be back after a trip.’
She smiles. ‘Too bad we can’t even wish for our own deaths.’
‘Collateral damage,’ I say.
‘If we ever make a band, that’s what we should name ourselves,’ she says. ‘Collateral Damage.’
At least that makes me smile.
24
Aditi
The engine hums a low, thunderous sound. People are already sleeping as if it’s a lullaby. I’m as awake and as scared as I have ever been. The unreal, pillowy clouds outside are a constant reminder that I am suspended 30,000 feet in the air, in a metal tube, hurtling towards a country I know absolutely nothing about. A country I haven’t even been interested in. I have seen reels, of course. It seems like influencers go there when they hop on Ozempic and get really thin.
Earlier, when the plane took off safely and the land had vanished below us, a secret, shameful part of me buzzed with excitement. A childish thrill. Raghav must have seen it on my face. My first time outside the country.
‘First time?’ he had asked, his voice low.
How little we know about each other, I thought.
I had nodded and stared out the window. ‘We were supposed to go to Thailand,’ I had finally managed to whisper. ‘For our honeymoon. Also here, and a couple of other places. It doesn’t cost money to make plans. I never really thought we would follow-up.’
He nodded.
I ask him. ‘Is it your first time?’
It didn’t look like it. At the immigration, he was confident about what to do and what to say. ‘I went to Dubai last year for work. And Sri Lanka with... with Megha. How many lies did we have to tell to make that happen?’ He chuckles sadly. ‘That’s it.’
Now, I wake up mid-flight. Raghav is next to me, head tilted back against the seat, lips slightly parted. He’s sleeping. He looks peaceful, a far cry from the anger and the anxiousness that’s a part of him. I watch him a little too long. Wonder what he must be like, what he was like, and what would he be like five years from now. I check my phone. No service. Of course. But the thumb doesn’t care about logic. Raghav calls my phone and my Kindle my digital pacifiers. The plane wobbles slightly. Turbulence. My hand shoots out to the armrest, gripping it so tightly my knuckles go white. Beside me, Raghav stirs and wakes up.
‘Fuck,’ he says and grabs my hand. ‘We are going to be okay,’ he continues, despite being shit scared himself.
The airplane stabilizes in a minute or two. I let out a startled laugh. Neither him nor I sleep for the rest of the flight even as everyone around us snores and shifts and pulls blankets over themselves and their families. We land to a smattering of applause. We are too scared to do anything.
