The cabin had been restless long before the announcement. It was one of those late-night flights where exhaustion hung in the air, mixing with impatience and the quiet discomfort of being packed too closely with strangers. Most people were trying to sleep, heads tilted awkwardly against windows or resting on flimsy tray tables, but one row near the middle had become impossible to ignore.
A child was crying.
Not the soft, tired kind of crying that fades after a few minutes, but the kind that builds—sharp, panicked, relentless. The kind that cuts through headphones and forces everyone to notice. His mother sat beside him, visibly overwhelmed, whispering urgently, trying everything she could think of to calm him down.
