Across the Aisle
The airport hummed with its usual chaos ... a tide of rolling suitcases, hurried feets, and distant announcements that blurred into white noise. Jodha leaned against the cold metal railing, eyes flicking to the departures board with habitual precision. She always traveled for work like this but tonight, something in the air felt slightly different though she couldn’t say why.
Her laptop bag was slung carelessly over her shoulder, papers peeking from the edges. She checked her phone again, mentally counting the hours until her flight. London, a week long corporate seminar she didn’t particularly care for, yet responsibility dictated she be there. Work had a way of choosing her life for her sometimes.
And then she noticed him.
He wasn’t the sort of person you immediately notice in a crowd. Not because he wasn’t striking ... Jalal Ahmed carried a quiet presence, magnetic in its understated authority ... but because he moved differently. Calm, measured, observing rather than participating. And yet, somehow it was impossible to ignore. He glanced down at a small notebook in his hands, and the brief flicker of sunlight caught the rim of his glasses just so, making his sharp jawline seem sharper, his eyes more intense.
For a moment, Jodha wondered if he even existed outside this moment. And then, ofcourse, he did ... he had to. Jalal Ahmed, the CEO of one of the budding import-export companies in the country, quietly building empires while the rest of the world struggled to keep up. She’d read about him in business magazines, seen him in glossy covers, and yet now, here he was, five feet away, grounding the fantasy in flesh and bone.
She shook her head and turned away, reminding herself that staring at strangers in airports was unprofessional and borderline embarrassing. But the thought lingered ... compelling, addictive, dangerous in its own subtle way.
When she finally boarded, the flight was already half full, but her luck ... or perhaps some cruel twist of fate ... had seated her right across the aisle from him. Jalal looked up from his notebook, eyes meeting hers with an intensity that made her pulse skip, and for a brief moment, the airport chaos, the flight announcements, the fatigue ... all of it ... vanished.
The plane took off in a rush of engine hums and slight turbulence, lifting them away from everything familiar. Jodha adjusted her seatbelt and tried to focus on her laptop, opening a spreadsheet that suddenly seemed far less interesting than it had ten minutes ago. Her hands trembled slightly ... an absurd reaction to being seated near a stranger and she told herself sternly to breathe, to act normal, to not get caught in the absurdity of noticing someone so ordinary and yet … not ordinary at all.
Jalal, across the aisle, was scribbling notes in a black leather-bound notebook. Occasionally he would pause, eyes narrowing slightly as if plotting some secret strategy the world was not meant to see. She caught a glimpse of the words on the page Shipment delays, supplier contracts, logistics chain … optimize … forecast… nothing unexpected from a CEO, yet the care with which he wrote hinted at an obsessive, almost tender devotion to his work.
Hours passed in the low hum of the airplane, punctuated by the occasional clink of a coffee cup or the rustle of the safety pamphlets. Jodha found herself stealing glances at him, trying not to let it show. But every now and then, their eyes met across the aisle.
She caught herself imagining how he his in his interviews and what he might say if words weren’t restricted to emails or headlines or boardroom pitches. Do you ever just… stop? she imagined asking. Do you let yourself exist without decisions and schedules, without profit margins and KPIs?
And he - she imagined him shrugging, a smirk curling the corner of his mouth, answering Only when I’m forced to.
Neither of them spoke for hours, yet it was not silence. Silence here was a language, the kind that required no translation. Every shared glance, every tilt of the head, every shift of weight in the seat was a word in a slow, secret conversation.
Jodha’s fingers brushed against the armrest as she adjusted her notebook, and his eyes flicked down for a heartbeat longer than necessary, tracing the movement as if memorizing it.
Dinner service came, bland food served on plastic trays, yet even that became a stage for their quiet, unspoken interactions. Jalal poured a little juice from the tiny carton into his cup, spilling a drop onto the tray. Jodha, instinctively, reached out with a napkin, her fingers brushing his in the process. Neither flinched, neither pulled back, and yet the brief touch sent a jolt through her that she refused to name.
He smiled ... small, almost imperceptible ... but it was there. And that smile lingered in her thoughts long after the tray was cleared, long after the lights dimmed and the cabin settled into the soft drone of nighttime flight.
Night deepened, and soon most passengers had drifted into sleep or were scrolling aimlessly through their phones. Jodha leaned her head slightly back, staring at the ceiling panels above. She tried to focus on the presentation she needed to prepare for London, but her mind kept wandering. She glanced across the aisle, almost without thinking, and noticed the man there ... the quiet stranger she had first glimpsed at the boarding gate.
He was reviewing something on a folder, occasionally scribbling notes, completely absorbed. And yet, there was something disarmingly human about him ... the way he exhaled sharply when he realized a figure in his spreadsheet wasn’t matching, or how he paused for a beat to tap his pen against the folder, thinking. Not the calculated movements of a CEO on stage, but small, familiar gestures anyone could have.
Their eyes met briefly, and she quickly looked away. Her stomach did that annoying little flip that made her want to pretend she wasn’t even breathing.
Then, almost reflexively, she spoke, quieter than she intended.
“Excuse me … uh … do you need this aisle space? My bag’s kind of ..."
He looked up, startled, and for a moment, neither of them spoke. Then he smiled slightly, just enough to soften the intensity of his gaze.
“NO, it’s fine. You can adjust your bag.”
“Thanks” she murmured, moving it to make more room. She found herself glancing at him again, and this time he seemed … easier. Less like a stranger and more like someone she could maybe talk to, if she dared.
A pause hung between them, the kind that’s never awkward but full of unspoken questions. Finally, he asked, casually
“So … you’re heading to London for work?”
“Yes" she replied, keeping her tone neutral. “Marketing presentation. You?”
“Business" he said simply, a hint of tiredness in his voice. “ A lot of paperwork, a lot of talking, none of it particularly … fun.”
She smiled faintly. “Tell me about it. I feel like all corporate travel is the same - airports, planes, meetings, repeat.”
He chuckled, low and controlled, and it was easier than she expected. Not flirty kind. Just calm.
"Exactly. Except, of course, we make it sound glamorous on LinkedIn.”
Jodha laughed softly, the tension she had been carrying through the airport easing just a little. “Oh yes, the glamorous CEO lifestyle ... flights, fine dining, meetings, and profit margins. Must be exhausting pretending to enjoy it all.”
He raised an eyebrow, almost amused. “Pretending? That’s … a fair assessment.”
Silence fell again, but this time it was comfortable. They didn’t need to fill it. She noticed the faint crinkle at the corners of his eyes when he smiled, the way he adjusted his pen, the rhythm of his breathing. And she realized that in the quiet hum of the airplane, these small details mattered more than any presentation, any spreadsheet, any destination.
Minutes passed, punctuated by soft conversation. He asked about her work, genuinely curious, and she answered, careful to keep it simple, real. They talked about office culture, long flights, and the quirks of business travel. At no point did it feel like small talk; there was a subtle depth to it, a quiet attentiveness that made her want to keep talking, even though she knew nothing about him.
When the lights dimmed further, and the flight attendants made their last rounds, he leaned back slightly, giving her a relaxed, easy smile. “You’re good at this..." he said, nodding toward her notebook. “Organized, efficient. Makes me feel like I should be taking notes too.”
She shook her head, smiling, feeling her cheeks warm. “I don’t know about that. I just … like to feel prepared. Helps me survive travel.”
“Survive..?" he repeated softly, almost like testing the word. “Yeah, I get that.”
Another silence followed, but it was no longer heavy.
Finally, she asked, more casually than she intended
“Do you… do you travel often for work?”
“All the time..” he said. “Sometimes it’s interesting. Sometimes, it just … drags you know.” His eyes flicked to the window, to the blackness outside. “Tonight feels like one of the dragging ones, I think.”
She nodded. “Yeah … long flights have a way of making you feel suspended. Between here and there. Between … everything.”
He looked at her, and she noticed .. really noticed .. the faint shadow of something unspoken in his expression. Fatigue, yes, but something quieter, something personal, almost vulnerable. He said nothing, and she didn’t push. That was enough. That moment alone .. the shared acknowledgment of life’s constant movement - felt significant.
An hour passed, and they drifted between conversation and silence, watching the world outside only occasionally, but more often noticing small things about each other. The way he tapped his pen when thinking. The way she tucked her hair behind her ear when concentrating. The subtle recognition that each was aware of the other, without expectation, without pressure.
And in that quiet, Jodha realized something delicate that connection doesn’t need to start with intimacy, doesn’t need grand gestures. Sometimes, it begins in small, real, grounded moments - a shared glance, a low laugh, an acknowledgment of each other’s presence in a fleeting, ordinary space.
~~
After 2 hours
She shifted slightly and glanced across the aisle. Jalal was there ... sleeves rolled up, pen now tucked into his shirt pocket, eyes focused on something invisible. Not working, not writing ... thinking.
And then, as if sensing her glance, he looked up. Their eyes met - again.
She smiled politely. He returned it.
A second later, he leaned slightly toward her aisle. “You’re not sleeping?”
Jodha shook her head. “I can’t. I keep thinking about whether the plane’s actually flying straight.”
He chuckled softly, lowering his voice. “You mean, like, what if it tilts and no one notices?”
“Yes!” she said, relieved he understood. “Exactly. Everyone’s busy watching movies and I’m sitting here wondering if the pilot sneezes, do we all just…?”
He laughed now, low and genuine. “That’s morbid. And very specific.”
“I overthink...” she confessed.
“Occupational hazard?”
She smiled faintly. “Human hazard.”
There was a short pause, comfortable. The kind where you can hear the small mechanical whir of the cabin fans.
“Try this” he said, tilting his head slightly toward the window. “Don’t look at the horizon. Focus on one small light down there. Makes the motion feel less … dizzying.”
She followed his gaze - small clusters of lights glimmered below like constellations fallen to earth.
“That actually helps haan ... ” she murmured, surprised.
“Told you. I’ve had enough long flights to develop survival tactics.”
“That much?” she asked.
“Too much” he said, leaning back. “My assistant once joked I should start collecting air miles like people collect heartbreaks.”
She laughed. “And have you?”
He smiled. “Collected heartbreaks or air miles?”
“Both” she said before she could stop herself.
He looked at her ... not teasing, just thoughtful. “One of them, yes.”
There it was ... the briefest flicker of honesty between two strangers. Not flirtation, nothin romantic. Just two people sharing quiet truths at 35,000 feet, knowing the air around them would carry it away once they landed.
~~
A flight attendant walked by offering water. Jodha took a cup, Jalal shook his head. When the attendant left, he asked,
He nodded, smiling faintly. “So ... after work trip?”
“Home. Delhi!” she said. “You?”
“Home. Mumbai! Though I’m stopping in Paris for a client meeting. Just a day.”
“Ah, the glamorous life.”
He gave a soft snort. “If you call hotel food and timezone headaches glamorous, sure.”
She grinned.
“I understand...” she said, sighing. “Sometimes I forget what my bed feels like.”
He nodded knowingly. “That’s when you know you’ve crossed over - from working to living on autopilot.”
She smiled wryly. “And you? Still on autopilot?”
There was a long pause. Then he said quietly, “I think I learned to make it look like I’m in control, even when I’m not.”
The simplicity of it disarmed her. Most people would’ve dodged that question, made a joke, changed the topic. He didn’t.
For a while, they both just sat there ... the plane humming beneath their feet.
~~
Later, when they began talking again, it wasn’t about work.
“What’s the best part of traveling alone?” he asked suddenly.
She thought for a second. “That no one judges you for eating dessert twice.”
He laughed, and she added, “Also … no one steals the window seat.”
“And the worst part?” he asked.
“Lugging your suitcase into washrooms and hotel rooms” she said instantly, groaning. “It’s the worst. I once tried to hang my bag on the door hook and it snapped. Everything fell out. Including… personal things.”
He laughed so hard that the woman across the aisle glared.
“Okay, that’s tragic” he said between laughs. “Remind me to never underestimate those door hooks.”
She smirked. “Please do. They’ve destroyed many travelers’ dignity.”
He looked amused. “I like how specific your complaints are.”
“Well, specificity is survival” she said with mock gravity. “You don’t survive corporate travel without humor.”
He nodded, still smiling. “That’s true. I once accidentally wore mismatched shoes to a client meeting. Black and brown.”
She gasped. “No!”
“Oh, yes” he said, grinning. “And nobody told me until after. The client sent a picture later.”
Jodha was laughing so hard now she had tears in her eyes. “You poor thing.”
He shrugged playfully. “I like to think I was setting a trend.”
“Yeah, CEO chic : chaos edition.” 
They both laughed again.
~~
A few hours slipped away quietly. The world outside turned from black to grey-blue. Dawn.
Jodha stretched, tucking her hair behind her ear. Her voice had grown softer, sleepier. “You know what I like about flights like these?”
He looked at her, curious.
“They don’t belong anywhere. You’re not at home, not at work, not on vacation. You just … are. It’s freeing, in a weird way.”
He smiled slightly. “You make being stuck in a metal tube sound philosophical.”
She grinned. “Maybe I’m just trying to justify why I haven’t slept.”
He chuckled. “Or maybe you like the in-between. Some people do.”
She thought about that. “Maybe. The in-between feels honest sometimes.”
He nodded, his expression softening. “Yeah. It does.”
Quiet again.
The pilot’s voice soon echoed through the cabin, announcing their descent into Heathrow. Passengers stirred ... stretching, collecting bags, adjusting hair. The world outside was awake again, streaked in soft gold.
Jodha sighed quietly, fastening her seatbelt. “Always feels strange, doesn’t it? How you can fall asleep in one world and wake up in another.”
He smiled. “That’s poetic.”
“Maybe I’m just tired.”
He looked at her thoughtfully. “Or maybe you mean it.”
She didn’t answer. She didn’t need to.
The plane landed with a soft jolt. People started standing, restless, impatient to escape. The familiar chaos returned - bags falling, children crying, phones buzzing to life.
Jodha reached for her laptop bag, and before she could lift it, Jalal leaned over and helped, his fingers brushing against hers ... light, unintentional, but enough to pause time for just a heartbeat.
“Thanks” she said softly.
“Anytime” he replied.
They stood there for a moment longer than necessary. Just enough for her to notice the faint scar near his wrist. Just enough for him to see the small silver ring she wore, not on her ring finger, but her thumb.
“Safe travels” he said as people began to move.
“You too sir” she said, though something inside her tightened at the thought of goodbye.
He nodded, slinging his bag over his shoulder. For a moment, it looked like that was it ... two strangers passing each other’s orbits, vanishing back into their separate lives.
But then he hesitated. Turned.
“Hey...” he said suddenly, over the sound of shuffling feet. “You said Delhi, right?”
She blinked. “Yeah.”
“I’m based there too. Well… not everytime but ...” He smiled a little, almost shyly. “If you ever feel like continuing this philosophical flight talk on land. .. ”
She laughed. “...I’ll bring the complaint forms.”
His eyes lit up. “Deal.”
There was a small, quiet pause. He took out his phone. “May I?”
She hesitated for a fraction of a second ... not because she didn’t want to, but because something about this moment felt too perfect to risk with reality. But she nodded. They exchanged numbers. Simple, effortless, no promises, no expectations.
“Jodha Sharma” she said as he saved her name.
He smiled faintly. “Jalal Ahmed.”
“I know... who doesn't know you?" she said softly, eyes twinkling.
He chuckled, shaking his head. “Of course you do.”
~~
They walked together until the exit gate, where paths naturally divided ... he toward baggage claim, she toward connecting transport. The morning light spilled across the glass floor, turning everything gold.
“Guess this is where our flight friendship ends” she said lightly.
He looked at her for a second longer than politeness required. “Maybe” he said. “Or maybe it’s just taxiing before takeoff.”
She raised an eyebrow. “That’s your way of saying ‘see you again’ isn’t it?”
He smiled. “Something like that.”
Then she smiled, stepped back, and said, “Safe travels, Mr. Ahmed.”
“And to you, Ms. Sharma.”
She turned and walked away, her figure merging into the crowd, her hair catching the early light like a quiet flame.
He stood for a second, watching, before turning toward the baggage belt. The hum of arrivals filled the air again But somewhere in all that noise, he carried the silence of that flight ... the laughter, the glances, the calm.
As he walked out, he unlocked his phone and saw her name saved on his screen. Just a name. No context, no title. Jodha Sharma.
For some reason, it felt enough.
He didn’t know if they’d meet again. But something in him, something small and unfamiliar, whispered that this wasn’t the end.
Maybe every story begins like this - not with fireworks, not with destiny, but with two tired people on a night flight, talking about nothing, and somehow finding everything.
Guys, don’t ask why there’s so much pausing and talking in every scene. Just imagine it’s a long flight so they’re working, chatting, pausing, then talking again. (Future warning: please don’t look for logic in my write-ups!)
Also, should I continue this?
Iss Pyaar Ko Kya Naam Doon
Jodha Akbar
