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.
We order some mimosas.
We talk about our lives.
We talk about travel.
This is the meet-cute we’ll tell friends and family at dinner parties.
“It was just like in the movies.”
“I knew I was at the right gate, but I asked her anyway so I could talk to her.”
“I noticed him glancing my way and just hoped we’d be sitting next to one another on the plane.”