They didn’t speak to her, but their eyes said enough. Regret, shame, maybe a flicker of something new.
On that flight, a man in a worn jacket, his hands rough from years of manual labor, approached Lysandra as the plane began its descent.
He was nervous, his words stumbling. “I saw you on the news,” he said, his voice low. “What you did?
It means something to people like me.” Lysandra looked up, her hands still on her backpack.
She nodded, her eyes steady but soft. “It’s for all of us,” she said, her voice quiet but firm.
The man smiled, a small grateful thing, and returned to his seat, clutching a boarding pass like it was a treasure.
The cabin hummed with a different kind of energy now, one that felt like hope.
As the plane climbed, the cabin was quiet, the hum of the engine steady.
