Her body was still, eyes wide open, and mouth agape with the broadest smile. She seemed to be too excited to be sitting by the window. She told me that it was her first flight in the 12 years.
I reluctantly occupied the middle seat on the plane and listened to her with no interest as I eyed on the window seat.
With the plane speeding on the runaway, she became a picture of glee. She was recording the take off in her memory in slow motion. When the air hostess began the safety instructions, she listened carefully while others turned a bored face. She brushed her little nose against the window and often turned to check if I was sharing that incredible moment with her.
I felt a twinge of sadness.
Slowly she would also turn a bored face at the safety instructions and become restless to switch on her phone.
Slowly she would grow up, grow old to forget her innocence.
I realized that if there’s one way to be happy, it is to keep the 11-year-old in me alive. I joined her in the comfort of being old and the thrill of recalling my first flight journey.
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