We were at the same gate.
We were both traveling solo.
We were about the same age if I had to guess.
We both had headphones on and scrolled our phones.
The facts are pretty clear.
Single. Same age. Both of us are alone at the airport.
I must ask.
Did we fall in love?
We must have.
Isn’t that what happens with people like us at the airport?
Shouldn’t we go to the bar and get a drink?
It’s only nine in the morning, but it’s the airport. There are no rules with drinking at the airport. A time zone somewhere in the world is in happy hour.
I imagined the entire scenario.
I go over to interrupt and ask if this gate is for San Francisco.
You kindly tell me it is. I say thank you, and I notice your boarding ticket. “You’re in the seat next to me,” I tell you.
You joke about how no one prints their boarding passes anymore, but you have a nostalgia for it. You like to collect them into a scrapbook because travel is a big part of your life.
I tell you I feel the same way, and I subtly mention how easy it is to travel when going solo. Nothing to hold you back.
You tell me it’s your favorite way to travel. Alone. And it’s easy to hop a plane on the weekend when unattached.
This confirms you’re single. No kids. Just like me.
At the same time, we ask each other if we’d like to go get a drink.
We laugh and joke about how it’s happy hour somewhere in the world.