The Rival’s Bride

Maya’s POV

A gentle voice crackled through the overhead speakers, drawing everyone’s attention. “Passengers, may we have your attention, please? We sincerely apologize for the delay—we experienced some technical difficulties—but we are pleased to announce that the engine has now been fully repaired. We have rescheduled our departure for 9:15 a.m. Please remain seated, make yourselves comfortable, and relax. If you require any assistance at all, do not hesitate to ask a member of the cabin crew. We appreciate your patience.” The announcement ended with a soft electronic beep.

A collective sigh of relief swept through the cabin, low murmurs rippling across the rows of seats. Around me, muted celebrations broke out in whispers—passengers exchanging smiles, softly congratulating one another that the hold‐up was finally resolved. The cool, recycled air felt soothing against my throbbing temples, but the tight ache in my chest remained relentless, a dull ache growing sharper with each shallow breath.

I turned to look out the window, praying for a tranquil panorama to calm my racing mind—a view of rolling hills, calm water, anything to distract me. Instead, all I saw was the stark gray of the runway, crisscrossed with bright yellow tape, and the line of empty luggage trolleys waiting to be restocked. The sight only reminded me of the earlier engine failure and how helpless I’d felt.

“Madam, we’ll be departing shortly,” a flight attendant said softly at my side, her uniform crisp and her expression earnest. “Is there anything you might need before takeoff?”

My mouth opened as though to speak, but the words wouldn’t come. She waited patiently, her eyes kind. I wanted to ask her to let me off the plane once we reached altitude—to drop me somewhere quiet and far away. But faced with such a simple, polite question, I found myself utterly speechless. Do I truly need anything at all? I thought, but even in my mind, the answer was vague. No one could give me what I most needed.

So I shook my head and closed my mouth. She nodded and moved away, tending to another passenger with the same gentle courtesy. Yet the ordinary question reverberated in my mind like a cruel joke. It reminded me of a voice I never wanted to hear again.

“Would you need anything after this?” That voice seemed to echo in my head, mocking me. My lip began to tremble; heat stung behind my eyes. I fought to hold back the tears—tried to remind myself I didn’t need anyone’s sympathy. But the effort collapsed. I swallowed, blinked hard, and the tears came.

I still couldn’t believe this was where I was right now. Everything felt surreal. I knew I had only myself to blame: I’d been naïve, foolish to let my heart lead me so completely. If I’d understood that loving someone too deeply could cause only heartbreak, maybe I’d have kept my guard up. Yet here I was, on a cramped budget flight, engine repaired but spirit battered—once I flew privately, high above the clouds, now stuck in economy class with nowhere to hide.

I hated it.

“Dear, are you all right?” A soft, concerned voice pulled me back from my thoughts.

I turned to see a woman in the seat next to me—her dark hair flecked with gray, eyes crinkling at the corners, a few delicate wrinkles suggesting years of laughter and tears. She looked at me with genuine worry.

“Yes, ma’am,” I stammered, clutching my bag as if it were an anchor. “I’m fine.”

“Fine?” She repeated skeptically, then reached out and touched my cheek. I felt the warmth of her hand, gentle and real. “Your tears say otherwise, sweetie.”

I forced a smile. “I’m okay,” I whispered. “Thank you for caring.”

She withdrew her hand slowly. “Whatever it is that made you cry, it will pass. We’re on vacation—let’s try to enjoy it!” Her tone brimmed with encouragement.

I managed a bitter chuckle. “I wish it were that easy.”

She leaned closer. “If you’d like, you can tell me what’s wrong. I’m just a stranger—but maybe sharing your troubles will help. There’s no harm in talking to an old lady.”

An old lady? I glanced at her again. She couldn’t have been older than fifty, fit and bright-eyed. A few signs of age, yes—gray strands in her hair, gentle lines around her eyes—but she looked lively enough. My mother, gone for years, had never been so tender. There was no comparison.

“Thank you,” I began. “I appreciate your kindness, but I don’t want to burden you with my problems.”

“Oh, nonsense,” she said, waving a hand dismissively. “I’m traveling alone on this flight, too.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Alone? Didn’t your family come with you?”

She smiled, but a flicker of sadness passed over her face. “My son booked the flight and said he’d meet me at our destination airport. My daughter’s flight isn’t until tomorrow.” She sighed. “Isn’t it odd? Supposed to be a family vacation, yet I’m by myself in the sky.”

Her loneliness resonated with me. I reached out and squeezed her hand. “Cheer up,” I whispered. “We’re on vacation, Marisol—whatever made us sad is behind us now.”

Her eyes lit up in surprised delight. “Oh! You’re wise, my dear, echoing my own advice. Thank you.”

I smiled genuinely this time. “I just wanted to return your kindness.”

She clicked her tongue playfully. “Please, no more ma’ams. Call me Marisol.”

I nodded. “As you wish, Marisol. I’m Maya.”

Her face brightened. “Maya—what a lovely name. But a sad expression doesn’t suit you. Let me help you feel better.”

I closed my eyes, a small tremor running through me. “It would be wonderful if you could, but I don’t think anyone can fix this.”

Marisol considered me for a moment, then spoke softly, “If I can’t solve your troubles, at least I can listen. Talking didn’t erase my own problems, but it made them lighter to carry. Sometimes it’s comforting just to know someone hears you, cares about your story. That’s all I’ve ever wanted for others: to listen and to share the load. It would be a pity to see someone as young and beautiful as you suffer alone.”

Her sincerity, the warmth in her voice, broke through my defenses. I took a deep breath. Meeting someone so caring on an airplane—it felt like a small miracle.

“All right, Marisol,” I said, my voice firmer now. “You win. I’ll tell you my sad story.”