I splash my face with water. Washing it clean, I then adjust my tight, skin-fitting skirt. A bun sits on top of my head, not even moving an inch. 

I get ready to serve the passengers. My mouth mechanically moves into a wired smile and I step out. Into hell.

The cabin is filled with noise. There's a crying baby at the front, with both his parents trying to soothe him. They are looking around furtively, avoiding any embarrassment at all costs.

There is a rambunctious group of people at the other end, chatting non-stop with one of them coughing constantly. I decide to stay away from them.

Finally, there is a group of men with sunglasses, one of whom is struggling to lift his hand-luggage into the overhead compartment. I walk over to help him, heels clacking on the carpeted floor. I am about the same height as him, but thank goodness for my heels. I tip-toe a bit before managing to push the troublesome luggage inside. After pushing the compartment cover down with a click, the man thanks me. I wave him off, but inside there's a little part of me that's surprised.

Normally passengers aren't grateful to the air stewardesses. They think it's a given. Truth to be told, he is the first person to actually thank me onboard a plane. I wonder who he is. He looked familiar. 

As I freshened myself up, my mind kept drifting back to the mysterious men from just now. Not only were they quiet and well-mannered, but behind those pairs of sunglasses wer