The flight attendants moved up and down the aisle, their faces neutral and professional.
One stopped to offer me a drink.
“Water or juice?”
I hesitated, then shook my head.
“No, thank you,” I replied, my voice barely audible over the noise.
The attendant nodded and continued.
It was a small interaction, but it felt significant, a reminder of the boundary I was now on the wrong side of.
I watched as they gracefully attended to each request from other passengers, their movements smooth and efficient.
It was a skill, one I respected, yet felt distant from.
The minutes dragged on, each one a reminder of where I was, and where I was not.
