The airport.
I sit before the flight, lost in silence and tangled thoughts, watching people.
Some are buried in their phones. Two ladies chat as they wait for boarding. In the corner of the café, a cheerful group of men sip their beers. A few rows away, a couple argues over something small but vital only to them. A young mother feeds her baby. Two friends laugh softly over cups of coffee. A man passes by me and disappears into the smoking room. Behind me, someone talks on the phone. Farther away, a quiet soul reads a book. At the bar, someone orders another drink. A family nearby fidgets, restless with waiting.
How fascinating it is to watch people.
Soon they’ll all board the plane, soar through the sky, and then scatter upon foreign ground like colorful marbles rolling in every direction — each carrying a small private world within: joys and worries, dreams and weariness.
And none of them will ever know that, for one brief, silent moment before the flight, they were all quietly united by the same waiting.
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