Isa
Wow, this is it! My very first time on an airplane and at an airport – it's all so huge and exciting! Standing here, looking around, there are so many different sounds, people talking in all sorts of languages. I can pick out some French, and a little bit of German and Italian, but then there are these other sounds, like music I've never heard before. I'm so glad I got a window seat! Peeking out, way up high, the view is just breathtaking. It feels like I'm looking down on a whole different world, and seeing the clouds so close, sometimes even above them, is like being in a dream.
The feeling as the airplane started to come down was a little strange, but then everything got super busy. All of a sudden, everyone was standing up, reaching for their bags and boxes in the overhead compartments. It was a bit of a scramble, with people bumping into each other trying to get their things. It's funny how everyone seems to be in such a hurry to get off after being stuck together for so long. This whole experience feels like the start of a big adventure, something right out of a fantasy book!
Okay, stepping off that plane felt like my heart was throwing a full-blown carnival! Twenty-four years old and BAM! – I'm instantly swallowed by a crazy maze of bright signs flashing "Terminal 1A this way!" "Nope, try Terminal 2B that way!" Seriously, it was like they designed this place to specifically confuse anyone who hasn't done this a million times. My phone was practically breathing its last, and I was staring at the airport map like it was written in ancient alien hieroglyphics. Why, oh why, didn't I just take a mental snapshot of this labyrinth back in Brazil? My panic was doing the tango in my chest until, thank goodness, a calm hand landed on my shoulder.
I spun around so fast I almost stumbled, and there he was—like a vision straight out of a daydream. How can someone look that perfect in real life? His dark curls fell just so, and his smile...ah, that smile made my pulse do cartwheels.
"Looks like someone's a little lost in Wonderland, aren't they?" he asked, and his voice was so smooth, it should have come with a warning label: "Caution: May cause spontaneous daydreaming."
"Lost doesn't even begin to cover it," I admitted, blinking up at his sharp-looking blazer. He actually knelt down next to me and traced a path on the giant map on the wall. "Up the escalator, then a sharp left – just stick with me, kid." "T-thank you," I managed to choke out, my voice cracking like a schoolgirl's, while my brain short-circuited on how unreal his cheekbones were. Calm down, Isa, you're acting like a lovesick teenager! My cheeks flared hot enough to melt the airport's neon lights as he tilted his head, amused. "You're welcome," he said softly, stepping closer, and I nearly forgot to breathe. Focus—focus! I grabbed a napkin and mumbled, "I—I really appreciate it," failing spectacularly to hide how mesmerized I was by every inch of him. And just like that, I was trailing after him like a lost puppy who'd finally found its human, my insides doing all sorts of fizzy things. Seriously, he smelled like a dream – fresh linen mixed with pure, unadulterated confidence.
Was this a meet-cute happening in real-time?
Before long, we were at the immigration area, and wouldn't you know it, I got plucked out for the "random selection" line. My passport felt like a slippery fish in my suddenly sweaty hands, and the officer's raised eyebrow felt like a spotlight shining directly on my "I'm a nervous newbie" forehead. Cue the internal alarm bells! But then, like my personal knight in shining… well, a crisp blazer, he was there again, leaning in with that charming, slightly mischievous grin.
"Swipe your boarding pass right here, Isa, and when they ask you about question number three, just a simple 'Yes' will do the trick – don't go overthinking it, alright?" His whisper was like a secret code, a lifeline in a sea of officialdom. I somehow managed to stumble through the officer's questions, and just like that, I was officially in the UK!
A massive wave of relief washed over me, and I couldn't help but beam at him. "Teamwork makes the dream work, huh?" he teased, tucking his pass into his pocket. Dream work? More like "avoiding a full-blown international incident" work.
Next thing I knew, I was standing at the baggage carousel, my little claim ticket clutched in my still-slightly-damp hand, only for every single suitcase that wasn't mine – bright neon ones, sensible black ones, even one with what looked suspiciously like cat stickers – to parade past. My cheeks started to heat up with that familiar "oh great, this is happening to me" embarrassment as I noticed the curious glances from the other, more seasoned travelers. "Wrong belt again, are we?" he murmured, crouching down beside me to compare our little paper tags. Just then, a kind-looking airport worker rushed over, and after a quick chat, my very own cheerful pink suitcase, looking like it had been on its own little detour, finally rolled onto the belt. He lifted it up with a triumphant grin, like we'd just won the luggage Olympics. "Ah, the sweet taste of reunited baggage!" he declared, waving away my profuse thanks with a casual flick of his wrist. I was practically floating on air – until I stepped onto the moving walkway, juggling a ridiculously hot coffee and my surprisingly heavy suitcase. Predictably, my balance decided to take an unscheduled vacation. My coffee seemed to arc in slow motion towards my brand-new sneakers, and my knees were threatening a full-scale rebellion. Like a superhero in a slightly less dramatic setting, he lunged forward, his hand catching my elbow and steadying me mid-wobble. "Napkins at the ready?" he offered with that charming smile, gently sweeping a stray strand of hair from my face. "You okay there, Isa? Third time's the charm for almost-disasters, right?" he chuckled. I snorted, pressing the soft paper to my now slightly latte-decorated shoes. "Smooth, Isa, real smooth," I mumbled under my breath.
We finally made it out of the baggage claim area, and I was just starting to get my bearings when the sheer chaos of the airport hit me again. Signs were pointing in every conceivable direction, and none of them seemed to make any logical sense to my first-timer brain. "Honestly," I started, turning to him with a frustrated sigh, "you'd think they'd have some kind of special system for people like me. You know, a 'Lost Newbie Lane' or something with big, flashing arrows that actually make sense. Back in Brazil, the airport wasn't this… aggressively confusing, but still! It's like they enjoy watching us wander around aimlessly."
He just shrugged, his hands tucked casually into his pockets. "Sixty-plus years this airport's been running, Isa. Seems like most people manage to figure it out eventually."
"Well, 'most people' aren't me today, are they?" I retorted, a little huff in my voice. "It's not exactly intuitive! It's like they assume everyone just magically knows that Gate Z is actually past the 'World of Waffles' and down the 'Moving Walkway of Mystery.'" Honestly, as handsome as he was, I was a little surprised he was just brushing off my very valid concerns. Rules and regulations should be clear, right? Especially in a place as busy as an airport! And there was something about the way he spoke, a certain lilt and confidence, that was strangely… captivating.
"Aggressively confusing," he repeated, a slight smile playing on his lips. "I like that. Maybe they should put that on the official signage. 'Welcome to Heathrow: Prepare for Aggressive Confusion.'"
"Ha! Very funny," I said, rolling my eyes but secretly enjoying his teasing. "But seriously, it's like they make it a game. 'Let's see how many first-timers we can get completely lost before their connecting flight.'"
"Maybe it's a test," he suggested, that mischievous glint in his eyes again. "Survival of the fittest, airport edition. If you can navigate this, you can handle anything."
"Oh, I'm sure I'll be handling a massive headache by the time my friend Tina finally gets here," I grumbled, glancing around for any sign of a familiar face. We'd been chatting for a good while now, this accidental airport buddy and I, and it was kind of funny that neither of us had actually bothered to ask for the other's name or why we were even at this chaotic place. We were just… chatting. About confusing signs and near-coffee disasters. It was a strange kind of connection, forged in the fires of airport disorientation.
Just then, I heard a voice call out from behind me, a familiar sound cutting through the airport din. "Isadora Silva!" My head snapped around, and a huge grin spread across my face. It was none other than Jasmine – or Jaz, as she'd always been known – my old high school classmate from back in Brazil! I hadn't seen her since she moved to the UK years ago.
"Jaz!" I exclaimed, pulling her into a hug. It was so good to see a familiar face in this overwhelming place. As we broke apart, I briefly caught Jaz's eyes flick over to the ridiculously handsome young man who was still standing beside me. She did a subtle double-take, a flicker of surprise in her expression, but she didn't say anything. "Jaz, this is… uh…" I trailed off, realizing we still hadn't exchanged names.
"He was my… airport guide," I finished lamely, feeling a little foolish.
Jaz just smiled knowingly, a hint of amusement in her eyes. "Well, he certainly looks like a helpful one." And with that, we said our goodbyes to my mysterious savior and headed towards the exit.
As Jaz expertly navigated the busy airport roads, she turned to me, a curious look on her face. "So," she began, a playful tone in her voice, "what were you two discussing so intently? Seemed pretty serious."
"Oh, just the aggressively confusing signage of international airports," I replied with a wry smile. "Apparently, I'm just not seasoned enough to appreciate their… charm."
"Hmm," Jaz said, her eyes narrowing slightly. "That wouldn't happen to be Jackson you were talking to, would it?"
"Jackson?" The name sounded… familiar, somehow. "Oh, that's his name," I realized. It suited him.
But Jaz wasn't letting it go. "And you didn't know who he was?" she pressed, a hint of disbelief in her voice. "Didn't it strike you as odd that someone who looks like he just stepped out of a magazine was hanging around the arrivals area, playing airport Samaritan?"
"Well, he said he was just being helpful," I defended, though a tiny seed of curiosity was starting to sprout in my mind.
Jaz just gave me a look that said, "Seriously, Isa?" Then she dropped the bombshell. "You do realize that was Jackson Cole, right? As in, the only son of Richardson Cole? You know… the car magnate?"
My jaw practically dropped. Richardson Cole. The name was huge. Cole's Car Enterprise was like the biggest thing in the automotive industry. "Wait… the car magnate?" I stammered, my brain trying to process this sudden information.
"The one and only," Jaz confirmed with a knowing smirk.
My mind was racing. This unbelievably handsome, incredibly helpful, slightly sarcastic guy who'd saved me from multiple airport disasters was Jackson Cole? The heir to a car empire? It felt like something out of a cheesy rom-com.
Just then, I remembered the thick envelope in my carry-on. My appointment letter. With trembling hands, I pulled it out and showed it to Jaz. "I… I'm supposed to start work at Cole's Car Enterprise in two days," I stammered, pointing to the official letterhead. "In their… accounting department."
Jaz's eyebrows shot up. "Well, congratulations, Isa! Looks like your 'airport guide' is actually going to be your boss. Jackson is the head of the entire finance division. You'll be reporting directly to him."
My imagination went absolutely wild. My clumsy airport encounters with the ridiculously handsome heir to a car empire were apparently just the beginning. My new boss. The guy who smelled like dreams and teased me about getting lost. This was going to be… interesting. To say the least.