T-8 Hours

There was a split second of complete silence in the cabin. It lasted exactly as long as it took for three rows to realize the oxygen masks had really dropped. Then the noise started—screams, cries, one guy up front vomiting into the aisle before even attempting to don his mask. All that training, those neat little safety briefings? No one actually paid attention, except for maybe Noah. He sat perfectly upright, motionless, watching the white and yellow mask dangle in front of him like a jellyfish. His gaze slid to Brianna.

She should have put hers on first. Instead she was frozen, a deer-in-headlights cliché, until the automated message from the overhead blasted: “Place the mask firmly over nose and mouth. Secure with the elastic band. Oxygen is flowing even if the bag does not inflate—”

A deeper, vibrating CRACK from outside, like thunder but wrong, cut off the sound. She flinched, and her own mask nearly snapped back and beaned her in the glasses.

Noah had removed his white N-95, letting it hang from his ear, and slipped on the emergency mask with surgeon-level efficiency. He reached over, like he knew she was a lost cause, but Bri had already jammed the mask onto her face and sucked a test breath. It worked. The inside of the cup smelled sharp and rubbery, but at least it meant she’d done something right.

Noah paused with his hand halfway to her face. He blinked, maybe surprised, maybe calculating his next move. Then, gently, he adjusted the strap behind her head so it was less like a garrote. His fingers brushed her ear—cold, steady, oddly grounding.

The intercom snapped on with a burst of static. The pilot’s voice was definitely not as calm as before, though he tried.

“Ladies and gentlemen, uh, apologies again for the bumpy ride. Looks like this storm’s got more teeth than we expected. Please keep those masks on until the panel lights go green, and keep seatbelts fastened. We’re working to get you above the weather, just another minute or two, I promise.”

He made a joke—something about “unexpected roller coaster action” and how they’d refund tickets if their stomachs didn’t survive—but it landed like a dying bird. Someone started crying up in business class. A drink cart rattled from somewhere behind her; she didn’t want to look back.

Noah’s blue eyes flicked up to hers. His mask fogged slightly with each breath, and she could see the pulse jump in his throat, but otherwise he was a statue. She hated him for it a little. How could he be so calm?

She tried to return the stare, but there were weird halos in her vision now. The sedatives were kicking in, making every light and sound feel far away, like she was watching herself from outside her body. She gripped the seat arms so hard her nails left crescents in the cloth.

The plane dropped again, a harder fall, and this time the floor slammed into her feet. There was a crunch from the baggage overhead—something heavy had come loose. In front of her, someone’s phone slipped from their hands and skittered under the row ahead. The cabin lights flickered, and for a split second the only light was from the emergency glowstrips lining the aisle.

“Brace position!” barked someone. She had no idea if it was a flight attendant or a classmate, but everyone in her row hunched forward and stuck their heads between their knees.

Noah didn’t flinch. He reached over, took her hand, and squeezed. For a moment it felt like being tethered, like she was anchored to the world by that contact. She didn’t let go.

The only sound now was the whine of the engines, the staccato of rattling plastic, and her own ragged breathing behind the mask. She closed her eyes and tried to imagine the world outside the plane—Australia below, her dad somewhere not dead, the air clear and blue. She didn’t want to open them.

The minutes stretched, gooey and slow, until the pilot’s voice returned. “We’re nearly through. Please remain calm. Masks on for just a bit longer. Thank you for your patience.”

Noah let go of her wrist but didn’t move away. She felt his shoulder pressed against hers, both of them locked together in a blue plastic world of other people’s panic.

When the turbulence finally eased, Bri realized she was still clutching the bag in her lap, and that her hands were shaking. She looked over at Noah. He looked back, nodded, and then looked away. They didn’t speak, but it didn’t matter. Everything worth saying had already happened in the space between the panic.

Waiting was like being trapped in a spider’s web of fear and uncertainty, the minutes stretching out like hot taffy, each second filled with a new wave of turbulence that rattled the core of their beings. Every time she thought the shaking had settled, a fresh wave of turbulence picked up, jostling the seats, sloshing drinks, rattling the bins overhead. The seatbelt light glared like an accusation. No one dared move. The silence, yelling and crying stopped, all their oxygen and energy burned up in the first act.

Bri shut her eyes, clutching the bag like a rosary, and tried to remember the breathing exercises from therapy. Breathe in: two, three, four. Hold: two, three. Breathe out: six, seven, eight. Her therapist had promised this would bring down her heart rate. “Count your breaths. Let the thoughts float by like clouds.” Fuck clouds. She tried anyway.

Thoughts did not float by like clouds. They screamed by like passenger jets, each one trailing a contrail of disaster. Bri saw her father’s plane burning on a runway, saw her mother’s wasted face, the way Baron had looked at her across the kitchen table, the sick-sweet smile he reserved for when she disappointed him. She tried to focus on the here and now.

Here: the blue fabric of the airline seat, rough against her wrist. The faint, medicinal scent of the oxygen mask. Noah’s arm, still close but not quite touching. She looked at him—his eyes were closed, his hands folded perfectly on his lap, as if meditating. Maybe he was. Maybe he was praying. Did she know any Jewish prayers? Was he Jewish? She filed the thought away to ask later. If there was a later.

Time lost all meaning. She tried counting seconds. After about a thousand, the intercom crackled to life.

“Good news, folks, you can take those masks off now! The air’s a little bumpy but you’ll find it quite fresh.” The pilot’s voice returned, a full Crocodile Dundee impression exaggerated for effect. “Sorry about the unscheduled roller coaster. If you find yourself wanting a refund, just queue up with the rest of us at the end of the flight. But hey, you survived the worst. I’m proud of you, and my copilot’s about ready to kiss the ground when we land.”

Some people laughed, or tried. Bri just felt her fingers loosen, one by one, from the bag. She unclipped the mask and let it snap back, nearly taking her hair with it. Deep red tracks marked her face where the rubber had pressed down.

Noah peeled off his mask with that same surgeon’s care, then wiped his brow with the sleeve of his sweater. He looked at her and gave a thumbs-up. She wanted to say something sarcastic, but her mouth was dry and her voice didn’t trust itself.

The lights in the cabin came back up. Flight attendants, faces pasty and eyes ringed with dark, moved down the aisles collecting trash and patting people’s shoulders. The food cart had also gone flying, overturned during the worst of it; there would be no meal service. Food and cans littered the aisle. “And the bathrooms—don’t even think about the bathrooms”, said the stern message from the lead attendant.

“We ask you to remain seated for the duration of the flight. Cabin crew will assist with emergencies, but otherwise, please stay put and enjoy the view. We are beginning our initial descent into Sydney.”

Enjoy the view, thought Bri. She looked outside and saw only gray—no sky, no horizon, just a blanket of indifferent cloud. For a second, she wondered if they’d ever left Tokyo. If this was all a shared hallucination, a punishment for something she hadn’t figured out yet.

The plane pitched again, a reminder that the universe was not done with her. Noah leaned over—so close she could smell the faint citrus of his cologne.

“You did great,” he said. His tone encouraging.

She smiled, barely, and waited for the next drop.