He was going to die, he said. He wanted to see her.
She contemplated for a while, then, gathered enough courage and money, bought a ticket and boarded the flight.
Once she sat in her assigned seat, though, she was regretting. She couldn’t watch him die. She just couldn’t.
She unbuckled her belt and stood up. The plane was turning away from the terminal. A flight attendant approached her and told her to stay seated.
She crawled out of the row of seats, found herself standing in the aisle and began plodding.
The flight attendant chased her, but she kept walking.
He had to keep living staring at his own death. He had been told that he would be dying soon.
“Are you coming?” His voice echoed his apprehension, and his hand, which held the phone, felt unsteady.
“I don’t know…,” her voice trailed off.
In the end, she assured, “I’ll try.”
He imagined her standing in front of him, remembering all the memories, bad and good, and things that he had always wanted to tell her but never had. He could say them now.
“I love you.”
For Sunday Photo Fiction – September 18th 2016