The terminal transformed in an instant. Where moments before there had been a cacophony of bustling travelers, now there was silence, broken only by the hushed whispers of onlookers. My father’s mouth dropped open in disbelief, his face a mix of confusion and shock. Laya’s eyes widened, and for once, she was at a loss for words. The air around us seemed to stand still.
The man in uniform, unperturbed by the unfolding drama, gestured toward a nearby gate, where a sleek private jet awaited. It was an elegant machine, all polished metal and grace, and it bore an insignia that had been engraved in gold. “We can take off whenever you’d like,” he added, casting a courteous nod in my direction.
With a deep breath, I turned away from the gawking stares and approached the man. “Thank you,” I said, my voice steady but calm. Despite the pounding in my chest, I held my head high, moving with a newfound confidence that seemed to fill me from within.
