Every story has an ending, just like every encounter eventually leads to a farewell.
Carl's article tells the story of a meeting but omits the farewell, leaving a missing piece that has raised endless doubts about the article's authenticity.
It seems Carl had anticipated this and prepared in advance, adding an epilogue to round things off with a twist.
For once, Carl hoped the flight could last a little longer, unlike the usual eagerness to land right after takeoff. This time was different.
During the entire flight, Carl felt jittery, sneaking glances at Anson every now and then, unable to believe everything that was happening. Despite telling himself repeatedly, "Don't idolize Anson, don't idolize Anson—he's just a regular person, like me," being in close proximity to Anson still felt surreal.
Thankfully, Anson slept most of the flight; otherwise, Carl might've driven himself into a nervous breakdown.
Finally, the long flight landed smoothly at JFK International Airport in New York, like waking up from a prolonged dream.
As the plane taxied on the ground, Anson and Carl casually exchanged movie memorabilia from the Cannes and Karlovy Vary film festivals. When Carl handed Anson a small film brochure from the Karlovy Vary International Film Festival, Anson was overjoyed and gratefully thanked him. In return, he reluctantly parted with a set of Cannes commemorative poster postcards, sealing their fan-to-fan exchange.
They continued until the plane came to a complete stop at the gate.
Truthfully, Carl had been curious about how Anson would make his exit. His first thought was that Anson might take a VIP route or even have a private car drive up to the tarmac, leaving discreetly before drawing any attention.
But Carl quickly dismissed this idea. The more extravagant the measures, the more attention they would draw.
Consider how Anson had quietly roamed around Europe, performing street gigs and attending the Karlovy Vary Film Festival without causing a stir. The secret was in his subtlety—true subtlety.
Nowadays, some Hollywood stars claim to live low-key lives, but they're always surrounded by entourages and luxury cars, making them impossible to ignore. They go so far as to complain about their lack of privacy while practically begging for attention.
Anson, however, was different. He was truly discreet.
Carl couldn't help but wonder how Anson planned to leave the airport unnoticed.
Anson made no special effort, simply pulling his hoodie over his head.
And… that was it. He wore no sunglasses, nothing else to conceal his identity. He was ready to depart, traveling light and unencumbered.
Once the plane docked, the passengers in business class were allowed to disembark first.
Carl hurriedly gathered his belongings. He glanced at Anson, who had effortlessly slung a backpack over his shoulder. It was then that Carl understood what it meant to travel light. Anson's journey was even more streamlined than that of the typical business traveler.
Carl was reminded of the rumor that Mariah Carey traveled with 25 suitcases, calling it "traveling light."
While Carl was lost in thought for a brief moment, Anson bent down and quietly slipped away.
From behind, his tall and lean figure stood out, but his face remained obscured. A fleeting glance sparked curiosity, but nothing conclusive, and soon he disappeared into the bustling crowd, unnoticed.
Carl thought to himself: So, this is how Anson traveled across Europe?
Like a backpacker.
In retrospect, Carl realized that this was likely the truth.
The simplicity of it allowed Anson to blend seamlessly into any crowd.
In the streets of Europe, figures like his are common, especially among Northern Europeans. Nobody would pay special attention. Even if someone took a second glance or their eyes met, they'd likely dismiss the notion that it was really him.
It was much like Keanu Reeves.
The Hollywood star was known for roaming the streets of Los Angeles or New York, without sunglasses, hats, or any form of disguise. His presence was so normal that no one noticed him.
Thus, Hollywood's hottest superstar could walk down the street, blending into the crowd without attracting any attention.
While journalists scoured every corner trying to track down Anson, the man himself might be in the crowd, casually watching the spectacle unfold.
It sounded unbelievable, but this might have been the best ending.
Carl understood that in theory; but when it truly sank in, the shock and disbelief were overwhelming. He was left frozen in place, astonished—
Could someone explain how Anson Wood managed to do it?
Carl's thoughts raced as he hurried to follow. This time, however, he didn't get too close. Instead, he kept a respectful distance, as if guarding Anson like a bodyguard.
His eyes and ears stayed alert.
Carl was constantly on edge, monitoring the surroundings to ensure no one noticed Anson's presence. The airport was packed with people, and Carl couldn't imagine what kind of chaos might ensue if Anson were recognized.
The tension was palpable, and Carl's heart raced.
From his pocket, Carl pulled out his digital camera and stealthily aimed it at Anson's back—
Click.
The photo, to be honest, didn't reveal much. It was just a hoodie-clad figure, an upper-body shot that didn't even clearly indicate gender. It could've been anyone in the world.
Still, Carl snapped the picture as a keepsake.
When netizens questioned the authenticity of the story, Carl left a comment as a postscript and attached the photo, bringing closure to this encounter.
"…I maintained a two-step distance, pretending to be a bodyguard. I followed Anson all the way to customs and watched as he approached the counter.
At customs, Anson took off his hoodie, revealing his face.
The officer recognized him instantly. 'Oh, Anson Wood.'
Clearly, his passport information confirmed his identity.
Anson responded, 'Yes.'
The officer smiled, 'I really like Spider-Man.'
Anson chuckled. 'Thank you!'
Officer: 'Welcome back to New York.'
Anson: 'Have a great day.'
He put his hoodie back on and walked off.
Before I knew it, the customs officer called for 'Next!' I rushed forward and passed through without issue. But by the time I reached baggage claim, Anson was already gone.
He didn't check any luggage.
From Amsterdam to New York, all Anson carried was a small backpack, like he was just heading off to school.
Staring at the bustling baggage claim, I still felt like I was in a dream, struggling to believe that any of it really happened."
Only then did the story truly come to an end.