The white noise of the waiting room televisions blended in with the hectic humming of the surrounding people as they scurried this way and that across the scuffed linoleum tiles of the halls. She sat erect, her body leaning away from the back of her chair as she stared down at the thick, glossy paper clutched between her fingers, a mere two words typed across the edge in bold pixelized characters: New Zealand.

The beeping of metal detectors and rolling of suitcases pulsed through her mind as she bit her lip, reading over the ticket again and again, half wishing the name on the flimsy paper would somehow change. With a sigh, she pried her eyes away from the ticket, taking in her surroundings. The waiting area for her gate was largely empty, spare for one or two couples huddled in the corners by the windows, clad in tourist attire, taking snapshots of the planes outside. The almost robotic voice of the announcer sounded from the intercom, declaring the next departure as the listings changed on the screens lining the walls. She immediately spotted the number of her gate, just four spots away from the next departure, a bright green “On time” blinking beside it. Again, she looked down at her ticket, the finality of it all suddenly starting to hit. Her chest constricted, her breath coming out in shallow spurts. Just as the walls began to blur, she pushed herself up, scurrying from the dreadful waiting room.

Her  heels clacked against the tiles as she practically sprinted away from the gate, paying little mind to where she was actually going. She placed a hand over her chest, the other still clutching onto the ticket as she took rapid breaths. It seemed as if her  heart were unable to pulse quick enough, her lungs unable to catch that last bit of air that would satisfy her starving veins. Her eyelids began to burn, the salty flavor of tears already wetting her lips. Quickly, she blinked them away, rubbing a palm over the lids roughly, despite the thick layers of eyeliner she knew would smudge from the action.

Suddenly, a loud thud knocked against her head, her heels losing contact with the floor as her bottom took their place.

"I’m so sorry-" a voice spoke up, smooth and soft, "-I didn’t see you at all."

She blinked away the mascara sticking her lashes together, her vision coming into focus on a pair of bright tawny eyes, staring widely down at her. It was man, she’d realized, as he tilted his head, once again apologizing.

"Are you okay?" he held out a large hand, the fingers outstretched towards her, "You’re not hurt anywhere are you?"

"No." she mumbled shortly, taking his hand. She felt her body lift from the floor as he pulled her up, scrambling to get her footing. He placed a hand on her waist to steady her, catching a glimpse of the black smudges around her eyes before she could avoid his gaze.

"Are you sure you’re alright?" he frowned, "You look like you’re crying."

"No," she shook your head quickly, wiping the eyeliner away as best as she could, "I wasn’t- It’s nothing. I’ll be fine. Thank you."

"Well, are you going in?" he offered a small smile, nudging his head towards the cafe she’d only just realized she had created such an embarrassingly huge scene in front of, "Let me buy you a snack or something. You know, to make up for practically breaking your back."

A frantic rush of blood flooded to her cheeks as she shook her head vehemently, “No, no, really, that’s fine, I wasn’t even-”

"Come on," he smiled, taking her hand carefully to drag her inside, choosing a small table on the other side of the cafe, facing the hall of incoming passengers as they filed in from their corresponding gates. She collapsed into the seat across from his, their legs practically intertwined beneath the miniscule bistro table. She bit her lip, ducking her head down to avoid another awkward interrogation.

"I really am sorry, you know," he sighed, lacing his hands together in a formal gesture atop the table, the sleeves of his suit coming up just enough to reveal the gleaming watch adorning his wrist. She glanced at the time, her foot tapping impatiently beneath the table. Her plane would be arriving in a hardly an hour. In hardly an hour, she would be boarding a flight to a place far from any reality she’d ever known. In hardly an hour.
 
"Excuse me?"

She blinked, looking up in confusion. A wary smile curved the corners of his lips, his brow knitting together just slightly. “I was asking if you were in a rush? Is your flight arriving soon?”

"Oh." she shook her head before she could really process his question, "No, not soon, exactly. I guess I have a few minutes."

"Great." the cautionary smile stretched into a full on grin, "Stay here. I’ll get us some coffee. How do you like yours?"

"Black." she smiled tightly, watching as he made his way to the narrow counter. Once he was gone, she immediately pulled out the ticket from her pocket, the formally glossy paper now crumpled and slightly dusty from being trampled upon. She smoothed out the ticket on the table, blowing away the dust to read over the contents she’d very nearly memorized by now.

"Your lip is going to bleed if you bite any harder."

Her head shot up as the young man placed a paper cup beside the tattered piece of paper, taking his seat again. “New Zealand? What’s in New Zealand? If you don’t mind my asking.”

For a moment, she didn’t respond, but continued to stare at the ticket, sitting upon the table like a third guest in the casual meeting she had found herself a part of. The heat from the coffee warmed her icy fingers as she wrapped her hands around the cup, letting her lip go from the grip her teeth had gotten them in.

"Nothing, really. At least, nothing I know." she mumbled, keeping her gaze lowered, "I guess that’s the point."

"Nothing?" he furrowed his brow, "You’re going to New Zealand for nothing?"

"I was going to go to Switzerland, originally, but I’d rather not deal with the cold."

"Ah," his lips rounded, "So you’re running away?"

Her eyes widened, her grip on the cup tightening. “How do you- I mean- It’s not running away- exactly.”

"It’s okay." he smiled warmly, his eyes somehow catching the dim lighting of the yellowed lamps hanging overhead, "I had a friend once who ran away to Switzerland. Said something about how he’d read in an article, it’s one of the best countries to run away to. It sounds kind of silly doesn’t it? A list of countries to run away to."

"But New Zealand," his smile widened, "That does sound better. More beaches and less neighbors."

She nodded lamely, turning the cup in her hands, her teeth biting down on her lip again. He watched in silence, occasionally taking a sip of his own coffee before speaking, “You seem awfully young to be running away from something.”

"It’s not running away," she replied curtly, "Not exactly."

"Then what is it, if you don’t mind my asking?"

She huffed a sigh, glancing out the window at the families arriving back from their various vacations, freshly tanned and still glowing from the euphoria of it all. Her stomach began to churn, the smiling faces doing nothing to improve her mood.

"Don’t be afraid to say it." the boy spoke up again, "If you’re ever going to say it out loud, might as well say it to a stranger, right?"

She glanced up at him, noting the clarity in his eyes. A heavy breath brought her shoulders up. “It was supposed to be a vacation. You know, people always talk about going to the airport and choosing a random flight to take for a trip. But…”

"But that’s a one way ticket." he finished, glancing down to read the information on the paper, "And it’s not exactly spur of the moment, is it?"

"No, it is!" she responded quickly, "I didn’t plan to leave- at least not this soon- by myself and-”

He nodded, something along the lines of empathy coloring his irises. He leaned forward, running a hand through his honey tresses, “Then what made you?”

She paused for a moment, opening and closing in an attempt to form the proper words. “My high school reunion is in three days.”  

He straightened up, blinking in confusion, “Your high school reunion?”

She nodded, her brow knit in frustration. The coffee was going cold in her hand as she twirled the cup this way and that. A sigh slumped her shoulders. “You asked what made me want to leave. It’s the first thing that came to mind.”

He hummed softly, leaning back in his chair, “When you found out about your reunion… is that when started thinking about leaving?”

"I suppose."

"Why is that?"

Again, she sighed. “I don’t know.”

"Are you afraid of something?" his voice softened, somehow resembling the warm melody of the jazz ambiance echoing against the glass walls of the cafe.

"That’s not it."

"But it’s a part of it?"

"I don’t know." she frowned, looking down at her hands wrapped ever tightly around the cup of coffee. He followed her gaze, watching as her fingers turned white around the knuckles.

"What is it you’re afraid of?" he tilted his head.

"I’ve made a lot of mistakes here, I suppose." She pressed her lips together, shrugging, "I never minded them much. Everyone makes mistakes, you know? And I had supposed that eventually, I’d get to where I want to be, one way or another."

"But?"

"But," she pressed her lips together anxiously, attempting to focus on the music, "Then I got the invitation in the mail, and everything sort of sunk in. I hadn’t even realized it until then, but I’d let all those mistakes pile up and up and up until there was no way for me to get around them. I realized I’m about as far from where I’d thought I’d be by now as possible.”

She glanced up, waiting for a response. When he gestured for her to continue, she dropped her gaze back to the table. “I read the invitation and thought to myself, ‘What’s the point in me going? How have I even changed since then? What have I done?’”

She swallowed nervously, taking the first sip of her already cold coffee. “That’s when I realized there’s no way I could undo it all. I needed to get away.”

He smiled, his eyes curving into crescents. “You’re running from your mistakes?”

"Not from them.” she shook her head, her voice growing dry, “I just want to start over. Where no one knows me, or how much time I’ve wasted, or how little I’ve done with my life. Where no one will look at me and wonder why I fell so short of everyone’s expectations.”

His eyes flickered down to her hands again, hesitating for a moment before prying the fingers of one hand from the cup with his own, lacing his fingers through the gaps of her hand. He lowered his voice, staring at the light shining off the matte coral color of her nail polish. “You know, you can run away all you want, but what you leave behind is never going to go away.”

Her lips twitched into a frown, causing him to chuckle.

"Do you think you’re the only one who’s felt that way before?" he arched a brow, "Like all the dreams you’d had since you were young just sort of faded away? Like you’ve accomplished nothing you ever set out to do?"

His eyes dropped to his hands, intertwined with hers, the vivid honey hue of his iris dimming with the distant shadows of melancholy, “Like you’ve fallen into a kind of empty routine, where nothing that used to matter seems to matter anymore?”

Her chest trembled with a breath as his eyes flickered back up to her, the amber luster returning to their irises as if it had never gone in the first place. His gentle lips curved into a smile as he straightened up, a slight flush of embarrassment coloring his cheekbones. “Trust me, it’s not something to run away for. It won’t work, anyways.”

"How can you be so sure?"

"I had a friend who did the same thing, remember?"

"Right." she nodded, her forehead creasing  just slightly, "Of course."

"Do you really wanna know how to fix it all?" he tilted his head, his bottom lips curling in.

She nodded immediately, leaning forward in her seat, almost unaware of the pressure she was applying to his hands, still wrapped in her own.

"Let it go." he replied, returning the pressure, "Forget about it all."

"But how can I possibly-"

"You can, trust me." he grinned, "All the mistakes you made, everything you thought you were going to be, all the short comings and disappointments, everything.”

Her lips turned down in a frown, her expression clearly depicting her dissatisfaction.

"You don’t have to run away to a new country to start over. You can do that anytime, and it’s not up to anyone else, either. Whatever anyone thought of you before, it doesn’t matter. They’ve all made just as many mistakes, and if they’ve still got the nerve to look at you with their noses all in the air, its only because they haven’t realized the pile of mistakes they’ve got behind their own backs.”

He hesitantly unlatched his fingers from hers, smiling sympathetically as her frown deepened. “Whatever you choose to do, you’ll be fine. Trust me. You were right when you said you’ll get where you wanna go eventually.”

She nodded despite herself, somehow able to believe the words herself. He was right. She would be okay. She repeated the phrase in her mind like a mantra, feeling each syllable soothe her nerves. Her shoulders slumped in relief, her hands, which she’d only just realized had been curled into fists, opened up on the table. The young man took his empty coffee cup from the table, lingering by the chair. A nervous smile danced upon his lips.

"It was a pleasure meeting you." he held out his hand. The woman returned the gesture, slightly taken aback as he leaned down to place a kiss upon her knuckle, feeling his lips curl into a smile against her skin. "I’ll be seeing you around, hopefully."

Before she could stop him, he left, disappearing amongst the now thickening crowd of passengers. A slight tinge of disappointment lingered in her stomach as she stood up, grabbing her ticket from the table. Lazily, she walked out of the cafe, standing idly by the door as the intercom screeched on, the announcer notifying the departure of her plane in five minutes time. She breathed a sigh, looking down at the flimsy ticket clutched tightly between her manicured fingers. The faded gray print stared back at her, urging her forward and into the gate. She bit her lip, glancing between the exit sign and the large blue gate number just a ways down the hall. With trembling knees, she took a step forward.

"Excuse me, Miss." a voice called from behind, "You left this on the table."

The young woman turned to the barista as she scurried over, her arm extended out, an old envelope held within her hand. Before she could protest, the barista handed her the envelope, quickly making her way back to the register. The woman glanced down at the worn off-white paper, her fingers sliding underneath the fold to find it already opened. She turned the sheet over in her hands, cautiously opening the envelope. Two large sheets of paper jutted out from the folded line as if stuffed into the packaging in a rush. With one last glance inside the cafe, she pulled out the contents of the envelope. Her eyes ran over the familiar typewriter font of the two sheets, her lips stretching into a grin.

The first was a ticket, much like hers, although intended for a return flight. On the top of the glossy sheet, in big black letters, read the departure location, “Switzerland”, and upon the other sheet, a formal invitation to a high school reunion.