Flight Anxiety

Sarah

The stale air of the plane cabin hits me as I step aboard, my eyes immediately seeking out our row.

I settle into my seat, hyper-aware of Matthew's rigid posture next to me. We are off to our honeymoon.

I sneak glances at his face. He is looking out the window, breathing a bit harder than normal.

The engines roar to life, and I feel the plane lurch forward. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Matthew's hands gripping the armrests, his knuckles white.

"Are you okay, Matthew?" I ask softly, unable to keep the concern from my voice.

"Fine," he snaps, not looking at me. But I can see the tension in every line of his body, the slight tremor in his hands.

He must really hate flying.

My own hands itch to cover his, to offer comfort. But I know he'd only recoil from my touch. Still, I can't help but feel a flutter of determination. He may push me away, but I won't give up on us so easily.