Gaze

She sat two seats away. Her legs were curled up under her, hands positioned delicately on top of her knees. Her long toes poked out beneath her long legs; her baggy jeans gave her away: she was too thin.

Her brown bun, resting daintily on top of her poised head, her light green sweater, her wistful gaze out the window: her faint smile, one of calm, effortless certainty.

Her gaze suggested she was promising herself something she had been hoping for.

Her eyes were averted, but they must have been whimsical.

As American Airlines pushed off the tarmac, she didn’t so much as even slightly change position, avert her gaze. She was dreaming, hoping, wishing. But for what?

A year later, someone published a picture online of that same girl, on that same plane, on that same flight. Same position: feet up, long toes curled under. That green sweater. Her faint, graceful look. That aura.

The American Airlines girl.

One million likes. A sensation.

That certainty.