The Space Between Us.

Rain tapped steadily against the high glass windows of the terminal, painting everything in streaks of gray and blue. Leighton Moore leaned back against the cool leather of the airport seat, legs crossed neatly, her blazer folded over her carry-on beside her. She stared at the departure screen overhead- Flight 872 to Seattle: Delayed- and exhaled a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.

Of course it was delayed. The universe seemed to be stalling her at every turn lately.

She reached for her planner, a slim, weathered notebook filled with meticulous notes, to-do lists, and sketches of her next project- a community arts center she hoped would secure her position as lead designer at the firm. It was her ticket to finally being seen. Not just as the organized one, the one who never made waves, but as someone with a voice. A vision.

The last thing she needed was to be stuck in an airport with time to think.

"Is this seat taken?"

Leighton looked up, startled out of her focus. The man in front of her gestured to the empty seat beside hers. He had messy brown hair, a bit too long, and a soft beard that framed his mouth. Worn jeans. A navy jacket that had definitely seen better days. And a camera slung over his shoulder like a second limb.

"Nope, go ahead," she said, nodding.

He dropped into the chair with a grateful sigh. "Thanks. All the other ones near outlets are full. You'd think we were prepping for the apocalypse with the way people hoard phone chargers."

She gave a small smile, then returned to her planner.

"I'm Ezra, by the way," he added, not expecting much, but offering it anyway.

"Leighton."

"Leighton," he echoed thoughtfully. "Strong name."

She tilted her head slightly, the compliment catching her off guard. "Thanks. I guess."

Ezra plugged his phone into the outlet between them and leaned back, exhaling deeply. "I was supposed to be in Seattle three hours ago. Guess fate had other plans."

Leighton's eyes flicked to his camera. "Photographer?"

He looked at her, impressed. "Yeah. Well... sort of retired. But yes."

"Sort of retired?"

"I used to travel for photojournalism. War zones, remote villages, natural disasters. Now I mostly shoot local stuff. Art shows. Portraits. Sometimes dogs in sweaters."

She laughed softly, in spite of herself. "That's quite the pivot."

Ezra's grin widened. "It's a living. What about you?"

"Architect," she said. "Working on a redevelopment pitch in Seattle."

"Ah. So you're the reason rent is so high."

She gave him a look, amused. "I'm not that kind of architect."

"Good. Because I like having a roof over my head."

There was a pause, comfortable in the way that only happens with certain strangers. Outside, the rain slowed to a drizzle. A flight attendant passed by with an armful of blankets, handing them out like some sort of sky-bound Santa Claus.

Ezra leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "Can I ask you something?"

She raised an eyebrow, cautious but curious. "Sure."

"If you could be anywhere in the world right now-no work, no deadlines, just you-where would it be?"

Leighton blinked, thrown by the question. She lived in deadlines. In planning. In lists and structure. "I... don't know."

He smiled like that was the most interesting answer she could've given. "Most people pick somewhere warm. A beach. Mountains. A cabin."

"And what do you pick?"

Ezra's smile turned softer, more wistful. "A bookstore in Vienna. It's old and crumbling and smells like ink and dust. I lived above it once, briefly. Before life got complicated."

"Sounds romantic."

"It was," he said. "Until it wasn't."

There was a flicker in his eyes that made her wonder what story he wasn't telling. She didn't ask. She understood the need for silence sometimes.

After a long moment, she said, "I think... if I could be anywhere, it'd be a cabin. In the woods. Alone."

Ezra's brows lifted. "Really?"

"Yeah. No emails. No calls. No pressure to be anything for anyone. Just quiet. And space to think."

He nodded slowly. "Sounds lonely."

"Maybe. But sometimes lonely is better than exhausted."

Ezra didn't reply right away. Then, gently, "You sound like someone who's been running on empty for a while."

She looked down at her hands. "Maybe I am."

Their eyes met then, and something unspoken passed between them. Not attraction exactly-though it hovered at the edge of it-but something quieter. Recognition. Like two people on different journeys who somehow ended up at the same mile marker.

Over the next hour, they talked. About photography. Design. Favorite cities. Strange meals. The kind of conversations that don't follow any real path, just wander wherever they please.

He told her about Cairo, about the street kids who asked to be photographed, proud and playful.

She told him about the building she designed in her last year of grad school that got torn down before it was ever completed.

He cursed softly. "That's brutal."

She shrugged. "It happens. Sometimes vision doesn't win."

Ezra looked at her then with a quiet kind of admiration. "Still, you keep going."

A flight announcement cut through the air, pulling them both out of the moment. Ezra glanced up.

"Not ours," he muttered, checking his watch.

Leighton yawned, suddenly aware of how late it was. The terminal had thinned out. Most people had either left or fallen asleep in uncomfortable positions.

He nudged her shoulder with his. "Wanna go find something edible? I'm buying. As thanks for sharing your outlet and your cabin dream."

She hesitated. Logic said no. Strangers and airports weren't meant to mix beyond pleasantries. But something in her chest-a pulse of recklessness, maybe-said yes.

"Alright," she said. "But only if we split fries."

Ezra grinned. "Done."

They ended up at a 24-hour diner tucked inside the terminal. Neon lights buzzed overhead. The fries were terrible, the milkshakes worse-but they stayed for hours.

Ezra told her about his brother, who died in a climbing accident five years ago. How grief had rewired everything. His career. His heart.

She told him about her mother, who had wanted her to be a teacher, not an architect. And how she still felt guilty about not going to her birthday last year.

They didn't exchange last names. No social media. No phones. It was better that way.

By the time their flight was called, dawn was breaking across the tarmac.

They walked back to Gate C17 in silence, both reluctant.

Ezra looked at her as they neared the gate. "This was... not what I expected."

"Me neither," she said quietly.

The boarding line moved forward. People shuffled around them.

He reached out, brushed her knuckles with his. "Will I see you again?"

Leighton smiled, sad and sweet. "Probably not."

Ezra studied her face like he was taking a picture in his mind. "Well. If we do meet again... I hope it's not just a delay."

"Me too."

She turned, boarding pass in hand, and walked away before she could change her mind.

She didn't look back. She couldn't. Whatever passed between them in those hours-those strange, electric hours- was too fragile to survive real life. It belonged in that terminal, among the tired travelers and vending machine coffee. It wasn't meant for daylight.

She kept her focus straight ahead as the line inched forward. Behind her, she could hear his footsteps. Not close enough to crowd her, but there. Present. And for some reason, that made her chest ache.

When she reached the gate agent, she handed over her ticket with a polite smile and stepped onto the jet bridge, the recycled air and dull hum of the aircraft ahead greeting her like routine. She slid into her window seat in row 18, grateful for the solitude. She pressed her forehead to the cool glass and watched rain smear against the window in streaks of silver and gray.

Just a few hours. A short flight, then she'd dive into the project. Deadlines. Data. Meetings. She'd bury the night like a story she didn't want to finish.

A voice broke through her thoughts.

"Seriously?"

She turned.

Ezra stood in the aisle, blinking at the seat beside hers. "Eighteen B," he said, holding up his boarding pass. "You've got to be kidding me."

Leighton stared at him. "You're joking."

"Not even a little." He slid into the seat next to her, shaking his head with a stunned laugh. "I didn't even pick this seat. I just let the airline assign it."

Leighton shook her head, dazed. "This is surreal."

Ezra gave her a half-grin. "Still think we're not supposed to see each other again?"

She opened her mouth to answer, then closed it again. She didn't know what to believe now.

The plane began to fill with passengers. Overhead bins clicked shut. A flight attendant moved through the aisle reminding people to stow their bags. Ezra shifted beside her, their arms brushing just slightly. Too slight to mean anything. Too much to mean nothing.

He glanced at her. "So, what's in Seattle besides your pitch?"

She hesitated. "A chance to finally be taken seriously. I've worked under other people's names for years. This project... it's my shot."

He nodded. "Let me guess-you've built your whole life around it."

"Is that supposed to sound judgmental?"

"Not at all," he said. "Just sounds familiar."

Leighton studied him. "What about you? What's waiting for you in Seattle?"

He looked away, out the window. "Closure. Maybe."

She waited for more. When he didn't offer it, she didn't push.

The engines hummed to life, and the plane taxied slowly onto the runway. Leighton leaned back, trying to steel herself for the next few days. She needed clarity, not distractions. She had a pitch to finalize, a boardroom to impress, a life to push forward.

But the man beside her-this stranger with thoughtful eyes and stories etched in the corners of his smile-wasn't just a distraction. He was a question she hadn't been ready to ask.

And now they were stuck in the air, 30,000 feet above real life, with nothing but time between them.

One hour into the flight, the lights were dimmed. Most passengers were asleep or pretending to be. Ezra had taken off his jacket, revealing a charcoal gray T-shirt and a tattoo on his inner forearm-an old camera, vintage and simple.

Leighton stared at it, curious. "What made you stop?"

He looked over at her, blinking slowly. "Stop what?"

"Traveling. Taking those kinds of photos."

He shifted in his seat, considering her. "I think... I got tired of watching life happen through a lens. You know how people say they want to capture a moment? I kept realizing I was missing it instead."

She nodded. "I get that."

"You?"

She hesitated. "I think I stopped believing I was allowed to enjoy the moment at all. I was too focused on being enough. Being impressive. That kind of thing."

Ezra smiled, soft and slow. "You already are, you know."

The words hit her like warmth. Unexpected. Gentle. Dangerous.

She didn't respond. Instead, she looked down at her lap, the buzz of something unnamed crawling just beneath her skin.

After a long pause, she said, "What do you think this is?"

He turned toward her. "What?"

"This. Us. This weird, temporary connection."

Ezra tilted his head, thoughtful. "Maybe it's not meant to be anything more than what it is. Two people who needed a pause. A window. A breath."

She swallowed. "And after the flight?"

He smiled, a little sadly. "That's up to the universe. Or maybe up to us."

Silence settled between them again, comfortable and a little heavy.

When the flight landed, they stood together in the aisle. The moment had arrived. The unraveling of whatever thread had tied them together in that terminal, in the diner, in this tiny slice of time.

Outside the plane, the city of Seattle waited-gray skies, damp sidewalks, and the beginning of something that neither of them had planned for.

At the gate, people began to scatter.

Leighton turned to Ezra. "Do you want to exchange numbers?"

He paused, a flicker of surprise crossing his face.

But then, a small, genuine smile. "No."

She blinked. "No?"

"If we're meant to run into each other again... we will. And if we don't..." He looked down at her, his voice lower now. "Then I'll just be glad I met you, Leighton Moore. Even for one night."

She felt her heart catch in her throat.

He leaned in and pressed a kiss to her cheek-gentle, lingering, not quite goodbye.

Then he turned and disappeared into the crowd.

Leighton stood still for a moment, her fingers brushing where his lips had touched. She didn't chase him. Didn't call after him. Because something told her this wasn't the end. It was only the beginning.