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October 27 - October 28, 2023
That’s the thing about flying: You could talk to someone for hours and never even know his name, share your deepest secrets and then never see him again.
In the end, it’s not the changes that will break your heart; it’s that tug of familiarity.
There’s always a gap between the burn and the sting of it, the pain and the realization.
“Not everyone makes it fifty-two years, and if you do, it doesn’t matter that you once stood in front of all those people and said that you would. The important part is that you had someone to stick by you all that time. Even when everything sucked.”
“How else do you know that it means something? Unless someone’s there to hold your hand during the bad times?”
“Is it better to have had a good thing and lost it, or never to have had it?”
It occurs to her that—impossibly, improbably—he might be about to kiss her, and she inches just the tiniest bit closer, her heart skidding around in her chest. His hand brushes against hers, and Hadley feels it like a bolt of electricity, the shock of it moving straight up her spine. To her surprise, Oliver doesn’t pull away; instead, he fits his hand into hers as if anchoring her there, then tugs gently, moving her closer.
He looks down at her with his head tilted, his hand still firmly on her arm, and before she has a chance to be nervous, before she even fully realizes what’s happening, she hears him mutter “What the hell,” and then, to her surprise, he bends to kiss her.
His lips are soft and taste salty from the pretzels they shared earlier, and she closes her eyes—just for a moment—and the rest of the world disappears.
the feel of the kiss still lingering like a stamp on her lips.
He’s like a song she can’t get out of her head. Hard as she tries, the melody of their meeting runs through her mind on an endless loop, each time as surprisingly sweet as the last, like a lullaby, like a hymn, and she doesn’t think she could ever get tired of hearing it.
“That’s why flying’s so great,” he said. “You’re stuck where you are. You’ve got no choice in the matter.”
He was a professor, a lover of stories, and he was building her a library in the same way other men might build their daughters houses.
“Love is the strangest, most illogical thing in the world.”
“No one is useless in this world,” it reads, “who lightens the burden of it for any one else.”
“Love isn’t supposed to make sense. It’s completely illogical.”
“‘Cheerfulness and contentment are great beautifiers.’”
“She’s one of those people who talks a lot about something when they really want it to happen. It’s almost like she tries to will it into being.”
“I can’t believe you’re here,” she says, her voice soft. “I can’t believe you found me.” “You found me first,” he says, and when he leans to kiss her, it’s slow and sweet and she knows that this will be the one she always remembers. Because while the other two kisses felt like endings, this one is unquestionably a beginning.
“The statistical probability of love at first sight.”
“People who meet in airports are seventy-two percent more likely to fall for each other than people who meet anywhere else.”
“Did you know that people who meet at least three different times within a twenty-four hour period are ninety-eight percent more likely to meet again?”
