Evette watches the sunset through the taxi window, the warm colors blending into the city skyline. Her phone buzzes in her lap. It's a message from Evan,
"I've reached, can't wait to see you."
She smiles, quickly typing back a reply. "Almost there."
The taxi driver clears his throat. "Miss, the Atlanta airport."
She blinks, snapping out of her thoughts. "Oh! Right, thanks." She pulls out three dollars and places them in his hand before stepping out.
"Have a good flight," he says, his voice gruff but polite.
"Thanks," she replies, adjusting her bag on her shoulder. As she turns to leave, she catches a glimpse of him through the window. He's still looking at her, a small smile on his face.
Something about it makes her uneasy. Maybe it's the way his scarred hands gripped the wheel, or the way his bald head reflected the dimming light. He looked a little scary—rough around the edges. But… he had been nice. Shaking off the weird feeling, she heads toward the entrance.
The airport is alive with movement—people rushing past, announcements echoing through the halls, suitcases rolling across the tiled floors. Evette scans the crowd, searching for Evan.
Just as she's about to pull out her phone, hands grip her from behind. A warm, familiar scent, vanilla and roses fills her nose.
She gasps, whipping around. "Evan! What the hell?"
He grins, his green eyes shining with amusement. "Scared you, didn't I?"
She shoves his arm lightly. "I hate you."
"I know," he smirks.
She takes a step back and looks at him properly. He's wearing a black sweater, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, and dark blue jeans. His blond hair is slightly messy, like he ran a hand through it one too many times.
"Come on," he says, nodding toward the check-in counter.
They walk together, dodging hurried travelers until they reach the desk. The woman at the counter barely glances at them as she asks, "Tickets?"
Evette digs into her purse, pulling hers out. Evan pulls his from his pocket.
The woman takes them, along with their IDs, types something into her computer, then nods. "You're all set. Enjoy your flight."
With that done, they head toward security, their steps falling into sync as they make their way to the plane.
As they walk toward security, Evette fidgets with the strap of her purse. "I don't know if I should be excited or nervous," she admits, glancing at Evan. "I mean, this is a huge change."
Evan chuckles, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Eve, you'll be fine. You literally have an 80% scholarship. You're the smartest girl I know."
She rolls her eyes but can't help the small smile tugging at her lips. "That doesn't mean I won't fail miserably."
"Please," he scoffs. "If anyone's gonna fail, it's me. You'll probably end up at the top of every class."
She nudges him playfully. "Let's not jinx it."
He smirks. "Fine. But just so you know, I'm expecting you to tutor me when I screw up."
Evette laughs as they reach the entrance to the aeroplane , her nerves settling, at least for now.
They step onto the plane, the cool air-conditioning hitting Evette as she glances around. The soft murmur of passengers settling in fills the cabin, and an announcement crackles through the speakers.
"Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. Flight 247 to Pennsylvania will be departing in ten minutes. Please take your seats and ensure your seatbelts are fastened."
A flight attendant, a woman with neatly tied-back hair and a polite smile, approaches them. "Seat numbers?" she asks.
"A22 and A23," Evan answers smoothly, handing over their tickets.
She nods, then gestures toward the middle section of the economy class. "Right this way." Leading them down the narrow aisle, she stops in front of their row. "Here you go. If you need anything, just press this button," she says, pointing to the small button above their heads. "And please remember to buckle your seatbelts before takeoff."
Evette thanks her and slides into her seat. As she clicks her seatbelt into place, a slight discomfort creeps in. The seats are cramped, the legroom minimal. She's used to it—her family isn't exactly poor, but they're solidly middle class, which means economy class flights are the norm. But Evan well, his family is on the other end of the spectrum. Business class, five-star hotels, luxury cars, it's his normal.
She sneaks a glance at him, wondering if he minds sitting here. But he looks perfectly relaxed, stretching out as much as the limited space allows.
He catches her staring and smirks. "What?"
"Nothing," she mutters, looking away.
She tells herself it doesn't matter, but a small part of her wonders if she'll ever stop noticing the differences between them.
Evette pulls her bag onto her lap and unzips it, reaching for the worn paperback inside. She runs her fingers over the creased cover of Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, her comfort book. She's read it so many times she practically knows it by heart, but there's something about it that never gets old.
As soon as she flips to the first page, Evan chuckles beside her. "Of course," he says, shaking his head. "You're such a bookworm, Eve. Can't even survive a flight without rereading that for the hundredth time?"
She smirks, not looking up. "And you're a finance worm."
"A what?" Evan raises an eyebrow.
"A finance worm. You know, because you like all that banking and investment nonsense."
He snorts. "That's the worst insult I've ever heard."
Evette shrugs. "I don't see you coming up with anything better."
Evan leans back in his seat, arms crossed. "Because I don't need to. You just proved my point."
She rolls her eyes but can't help the small laugh that escapes. As much as he teases her, she knows it's all in good fun. It's just how they've always been.