© Tess Hathaway — Early Access Draft
Originally published on Patreon: patreon.com/TessHathaway
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Rain whispered against the jet bridge—steady, rhythmic, the sort that washed airports into the same shade of grey everywhere.
Emma lifted her carry-on, slid it into the overhead bin, clicked the latch shut and exhaled. One small success before take-off.
A muffled thud came from two rows back.
Then—
“Bloody hell,” a man muttered, not especially loud, just earnest.
Then louder: “Come on, come on — why now?”
The voice was low, British, and losing a fight with an uncooperative suitcase. Metal scraped, a zip caught, another mutter followed that would have made a nun flinch.
Emma turned, smiling despite herself. The man had one hand braced on the locker and the other on his bag, hair slightly damp from the rain, sleeves rolled up as if that might help.
He shoved the bag into place with a final grunt, wiped his hands on his jeans, and sat beside her.
“Rough morning?” she asked, in that voice people use when they want to be kind but not invasive.
“More like rough two days. Missed flight, missing suitcase, missing patience.”
“Sounds like a trilogy.”
“Working title: ‘How to Lose Your Luggage and Your Dignity.’”
She laughed softly, the first real laugh she’d had in days.
“Emma.”
“Daniel.”
“Nice to meet you, Daniel, professional luggage whisperer.”
“Retired,” he said. “The bags stopped listening.”
The engines hummed, lights dimmed, and conversation thinned to a comfortable quiet.
“You travelling for work?” he asked after take-off.
“Study.”
“Same.”
“Small world.”
“Smaller plane.”
They smiled into the cabin light, that faint orange that made strangers look trustworthy for an hour.
“You’re calm for someone mid-reroute,” she said.
“Exhaustion masquerading as wisdom.”
“Convincing act.”
“Thanks. You?”
“Keeping busy helps.”
“Doing a lot at once?”
“It’s how I function. If I stop, I think too much.”
“Thinking’s not always the enemy.”
“Sometimes it is.”
He tilted his head, curious. “Fair point.”
They talked in fragments — conversations that skipped introductions and landed straight in shared air. He liked strong coffee and books he never finished. She liked early mornings and lists she rarely followed.
Somewhere between turbulence and tea service, the conversation found an easy rhythm that didn’t need depth to feel real.
When the seat-belt sign pinged off for landing, Daniel stretched, rubbing his neck.
“Shortest flight of my life.”
“You’ve been awake since yesterday; anything short feels divine.”
“True. But this was… easy.”
“Flights rarely are.”
“Maybe it was the company.”
Emma looked away, smiling into the window reflection. The city below was a scatter of wet lights, endless and unfamiliar.
At baggage claim, the carousel groaned to life. Emma watched the first black case appear, then another. Daniel stood beside her, leaning on the rail.
“That one yours?”
“Yes.” She pulled it off.
“I’ll get it.”
“I’m fine.”
“Humor me.”
He lifted it easily. Another case rolled out.
“Two.”
“Apparently.”
“You’re collecting them?”
“You’d think.”
By the third he was laughing.
“Three?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Four and we call it a lifestyle choice.”
The fourth thumped down.
“Five,” he said when the next arrived, already reaching for it.
“You don’t have to—”
“Too late, I’m invested.”
Then came the sixth—bright, dented, unmistakable.
He stared at it, grinning.
“Six?”
“Don’t judge.”
“Not judging. Just recalculating your carbon footprint.”
She snorted. “I’ll survive.”
“I believe you.”
They stacked the last case beside her trolley. She thanked him, a little breathless, hair sticking to her forehead.
“Seriously, you didn’t have to.”
“I know. But now I’d feel guilty watching you wrestle all that alone.”
“You’re impossible.”
“Persistent.”
“Same thing.”
Her ride notification buzzed. Outside, rain slicked the glass doors. He accompanied her to the curb, pushing the overloaded trolley with easy confidence while she tugged the final suitcase beside him.
“Need help loading?”
“I’ll manage.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Because it’s true.”
“Still staying.”
They worked in silence, full of small grins and shared effort. The driver eyed the growing pile and muttered something about extra fees.
“Six,” Daniel said helpfully.
“Yes, thank you, I was trying to hide that.”
“Not possible. You’ve achieved baggage legend status.”
When the trunk finally closed, she turned to him, half-laughing, half-embarrassed.
“You really shouldn’t help strangers.”
“You don’t seem that strange.”
“Give it time.”
He smiled, rain dotting his hair.
“Safe trip, Emma.”
“You too, Daniel.”
He stepped back, hands in pockets, as the car pulled away. Through the wet glass she saw him still standing there, one small carry-on at his feet, looking lighter than the weather should allow.
She exhaled, a quiet laugh slipping out.
Six suitcases.
A whole life packed into too many zippers and handles.
It sounded absurd — excessive, almost comical — yet it was the truest thing she’d carried in months.
Outside, the rain blurred into silver lines. Inside the car, she let the quiet fill in around her, soft and possible.
Somewhere behind her, a man with one bag and too many thoughts smiled to himself, wondering how someone carrying six suitcases could still look like freedom in motion
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
❤️ Continue the journey on Dec 1, 2025— Chapter 2 drops at 7pm EST.
Become a member on Patreon to access all chapters as they unfold. patreon.com/TessHathaway
0 comments