Destined for you

Chp 3

As I settled into my first-class seat, after changing into some comfortable clothes, the weight of everything I'd left behind pressed down on me. The soft leather felt unfamiliar, almost mocking. I couldn't afford this kind of luxury, but I couldn't afford to stay either. Pulling out my phone, I opened my banking app, the pit in my stomach deepening as I moved most of my money into savings.

One year. That's all I had to survive—no family, no backup plan, just me and what little I had. I calculated my expenses, biting my lip as I scribbled numbers into the margins of my notebook. Rent, food, emergencies. I could make it work... probably.

As I leaned back, closing my eyes to calm my nerves, I heard someone sit down in front of me. I opened one eye—and groaned.

Of course it was him.

The coffee-spilling, smirking, pastry-ruining man from earlier. He dropped into his seat like it was a throne, tossing his bag into the overhead compartment with zero regard for anyone else. His hair was slightly disheveled now, giving him an annoyingly effortless charm.

"Oh, come on," I muttered under my breath, louder than I intended.

He turned, catching my eye, and smirked. "Well, well. If it isn't my favorite make my day bad person. Stalking me now, are we?"

I shot him a glare. "Trust me, you're the last person I want to see. Can't you go spill coffee on someone else?"

"Tempting," he replied, leaning back in his seat. "But I'm kind of busy enjoying this premium experience. You should try it sometime—relaxing, I mean."

"Relaxing?" I scoffed. "You're the reason I need therapy."

He chuckled, the sound annoyingly rich and warm, like he didn't have a care in the world. "You're funny. Ever thought about doing stand-up? Or is yelling at strangers your full-time gig?"

I opened my mouth to retort, but the flight attendant appeared, interrupting the exchange. She smiled at both of us as if we were just another happy pair of travelers.

"Anything to drink before takeoff?"

"Water," I said curtly, still glaring at him.

"Black coffee," he said, flashing the attendant a charming smile that made her blush. Of course, he had to be one of those guys, ew.

As the plane started going down the runway, I leaned back and closed my eyes, hoping for some peace. But even through my noise-canceling headphones, I could hear him tapping his fingers against the armrest.

"Can you not?" I snapped, pulling off my headphones.

He looked at me, completely unbothered. "Not what?"

"That!" I gestured at his hand.

He smirked, leaning forward slightly. "You seem a little tense. Is this your first time flying?"

"Why do you care?" I shot back.

He shrugged. "I don't. But you're kind of ruining the vibe up here. First class is supposed to be peaceful, you know."

"I wouldn't have to ruin it if you weren't so—so irritating," I retorted.

"Me?" he said, feigning innocence. "I'm delightful. You're the one with anger management issues."

Before I could fire back, the plane took off, and the sudden jolt silenced me. I gripped the armrests, my knuckles turning white.

He glanced at me, his smirk fading slightly. "Scared of flying?"

"No," I said through clenched teeth, refusing to look at him.

"Right," he said, his tone softer now. "Totally not scared."

I shot him a look, but his expression wasn't mocking anymore. For a moment, he seemed almost...concerned. But then the turbulence stopped, and he turned back to his book like nothing had happened.

A few hours into the flight, I woke up to a particularly rough patch of turbulence. My heart raced as the plane shook, and I instinctively gripped the armrests again.

Pastry Boy glanced at me, his brow furrowing slightly. "Still not scared, huh?"

"Shut up," I muttered, trying to steady my breathing.

He didn't say anything for a moment, then leaned over, offering me a piece of gum. "Here. Helps with the nerves."

I blinked at him, caught off guard. "What?"

"Take it," he said, his tone unusually gentle. "Chewing helps with the anxiety."

I hesitated, then snatched it from his hand. "Thanks, I guess."

"Don't mention it," he said, leaning back. "Literally. Don't mention it."

I popped the gum into my mouth, trying to focus on the rhythm of chewing instead of the turbulence. Despite everything, his small act of kindness made the fear a little easier to manage.

But that didn't mean I was ready to forgive him for the coffee incident—or for somehow ending up in my life at the worst possible time.