Flight 417 to Paris was boarding smoothly, first-class cabin already filling with the usual mix of tailored suits, designer handbags, and practiced indifference.
Janine, a senior flight attendant with fifteen years of service under her belt, adjusted her navy scarf and smiled as a man in a Rolex took his seat in 2A. So far, just another Tuesday.
Then came a couple — young, stylish, but casual. The man wore a hoodie and sneakers, his dreadlocks tied back neatly. The woman beside him had dyed-pink hair, oversized sunglasses, and a camera slung around her neck. They laughed as they approached, boarding passes in hand.
Janine’s smile faltered just slightly.
First class? she thought, glancing at their tickets. Surely they’re lost.
“Can I help you find your seats?” she asked, voice laced with sweet professionalism.
The man held up his ticket. “We’re in 1A and 1B.”
Janine blinked. “Of course,” she said smoothly, stepping aside. “Welcome aboard.”
As they settled in, she caught herself watching them a moment too long. The man pulled out a sleek laptop; the woman flipped through a worn copy of Le Monde diplomatique. Janine looked away, vaguely irritated with herself.
Later, while serving champagne, she overheard a snatch of their conversation.
“…after the TED Talk in Berlin, we’ve got two days in Paris before heading to Lagos,” the woman said.
Janine froze for a heartbeat.
She handed over the champagne, smile a little more genuine this time. “Enjoy your flight.”
And for the first time in a long time, Janine felt just a little foolish behind her perfect smile.
