Chapter 8 No Strings Attached
NO STRINGS ATTACHED
AMIRA
Istare out the window as the plane taxis toward the runway, the sky a dull gray, typical for Seattle this time of year.
I pull out my phone, thumbing through my notifications without much thought. A text from my mom lights up the screen.
Mama: Safe travels, habibti. Let us know when you land.
I smile and quickly type back.
Me: Thank you. Kiss Baba for me. I’ll call you tonight xx
Then, out of habit, I open my email and find one from my new employer. I had told them I’d be a day late due to weather and they were very understanding.
Subject: Florist Meeting - Time Sensitive
Hi Amira, hope you’re well! I know your travel day is packed, but the florist is only available this evening. Would you be able to meet them around 6PM at the shop?
I glance at the time and do the math. If everything goes smoothly, I’ll barely have time to shower, change, and get over there. I reply with a polite confirmation, then close my phone and exhale slowly.
Beside me, Henson sips his water, reading something on his tablet. He hasn’t said much since we boarded, though not in a cold or distant way.
We talk in spurts throughout the flight. Nothing deep. No more confessions or flirty tension. It’s not awkward. It’s… nice.
And that’s the problem.
Because when the pilot comes over the speaker and announces our descent into Nantucket, my heart sinks.
This is it: the end.
I should be relieved. It was supposed to be one night, one flight, goodbye.
No strings attached.
But the idea of walking away from him and pretending last night didn’t happen makes something sharp twist in my chest.
What are you even doing, Amira? I scold myself. You don’t have time for men right now, especially not ones who leave you breathless and smiling like an idiot.
You need a break. A clean slate. A job to throw yourself into.
By the time we land, my throat feels tight. The passengers move around us in a blur, but I feel as if I’m walking underwater.
Henson grabs his bag from the overhead bin and turns toward me, clearing his throat. “Do you need a ride?”
I shake my head quickly, forcing a smile. “No, thank you. You’ve done enough.”
His jaw ticks like he wants to say something else, but he doesn’t. Just nods once. “Alright then.”
And just like that, we go our separate ways.
No dramatic goodbye. No final kiss. No looking back.
Though long after I’ve left the airport, long after I’ve settled into the little guest cottage that came with the job and changed into something more professional, my mind drifts back to Henson.
To his hands, his voice, and the way he looked at me.
And I hate that even now, with a full schedule ahead and a fresh start within reach, part of me wishes I could go back to last night and do it all over again.