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Now the tears cascade, unstoppable, down my cheeks. I rest my head in my hands, crying, laughing, excited, and anxious all at once.
“Yes!” I shout, throwing my hands up in the air in celebration.
My week in Paris flies by but I make the most of every single second I’m here. I spend my mornings sipping coffee and eating pastries on the small balcony of my hotel room. My afternoons are filled with street art, strolls along the Seine, and sightseeing. Each evening, I savor a small glass of wine while listening to “Les Champs-Elysées” by Joe Dassin—another cliché but it brings me joy.
On my last night here, I triple-check that I’m checked in for my nine a.m. flight, then turn on a peaceful YouTube video to fall asleep to. The soft sounds of rain lull me to sleep in a matter of minutes, a smile on my face when I think about sharing my exciting news with Xana.
“Ugh,” I groan, stretching my arms overhead as I realize it’s my final few hours in Paris. I’m sad to leave but I’m also excited to start my new job back home. I sit up, a little surprised I’m awake before my alarm. I reach for my phone, tapping the screen to check the time, but the screen stays black.
“That’s weird.” I tap it again, reaching to grab it when I realize that while the cord is plugged into my phone, it’s not plugged into the wall. “Oh my God!” I gasp, realizing it died sometime in the night and I, in fact, did not sleep through my alarm because it never went off. I plug it in, the little red lightning bolt on the screen confirming that the phone is completely dead.
“Shit, shit, shit.” I scramble across the bed, reaching for the clock on the other bedside table. “8:14!” I practically scream as I launch myself out of bed, tearing off my pajamas while hopping from one leg to the other to pull on my jeans. I dart to the bathroom, brushing my teeth while simultaneously brushing my hair and attempting to pull on my shirt.
My flight leaves at nine and I’m staying twenty minutes from the airport which means that I need to have left my hotel a solid thirty minutes ago to make sure I made it through security on time. I dash around my room, grateful I packed everything but my outfit for the day and minimal makeup which I now have no time to apply. Realizing I need to conserve my phone battery, I call down to the front desk for a taxi.
“Bonjour, yes, could I get a taxi to the airport as soon as possible, please? Yes, thank you so much.” I hang up, shoving my pajamas and toiletries into my bag before grabbing my phone and running toward the elevator. By the time I make it downstairs, the taxi has arrived.
“Hi, good morning. I’m in a crazy hurry. I’m so sorry. So if we could take the fastest way, that would be great.”
He looks up at me in the rearview mirror, muttering something beneath his breath in French before pulling out into traffic.
“Merci!” I hand him a few extra bills as I tumble out of the taxi, tugging my luggage up over the curb and into the airport. I’m sweating by the time I make it to security, glancing at my watch every few seconds. I stand on my tiptoes, looking over the crowd. There are only a few people in front of me. I look at my watch again. My flight leaves in eighteen minutes. I kick off my shoes once I show my passport and boarding pass, walk through security, and grab my bags again. I don’t even bother putting my shoes back on before I’m running through the terminal, darting around people right and left.
“Wait!” I shout, waving my arm overhead as I approach my gate, my chest heaving as I bend over to catch my breath, a stitch piercing through my side. “I’m here, I’m here,” I pant, showing my boarding pass on my phone to the gate attendant.
“Unfortunately, you’re two minutes too late, the door has shut and boarding has ended.”
“What?” I gasp. “But it’s only 8:47 and my fight doesn’t depart till nine.”
“Exactly. Boarding ends at 8:45 promptly.” She stares at me, her face stoic.
“Please, I’m begging you. Just let me on. I didn’t realize my phone wasn’t charging and it died while I was sleeping so I missed my alarm.” I plead my case with her but it’s clear it’s not doing a thing.
“Ma’am, please step over to the customer service desk. They’ll book you on the next available flight.”
I groan and walk over to the desk, explaining what happened when I see the door open again and the pilot exit the flight, waving toward someone.
“Ma’am,” the man behind the counter explains, “the next flight we can get you on doesn’t depart until tonight at midnight.”
“What? Seriously, there’s nothing else?”
“That’s what I said.”
“Sir, I can’t tell you what a pleasure it is to have you on our flight.” I look over toward the pilot who juts his hand out toward a man who has me doing a double take.
“Hey,” I say, stepping away from the desk. “I know him.” I point to the man who is the stranger I ran into in front of the Eiffel Tower.
“I highly doubt you know him, ma’am. That is the owner and CEO of this airline.”
“What? Seriously? Why is he taking a commercial flight?”
“Probably a quality check but you’d have to ask him that.”
“Hey,” I shout toward the man.
“I didn’t mean seriously ask him,” the man behind the counter scolds me. “Do you want to be booked on the red-eye flight or not?”
“Now wait a minute.” I walk toward the gate agent again as she ushers the stranger and the pilot through the door onto the gangway. “If the door is open, can’t I go in? I know him. He knows me,” I say, pointing toward his back.
