Sheer panic swallowed me whole. I tore at my seatbelt like a man possessed, lurching to my feet, head whipping in every direction.
The seats. The aisle. The lavatories. I even dropped to my knees and checked beneath the rows.
Nothing.
She was nowhere.
Amy had vanished again.
"Flight attendant! Flight attendant!"
My voice cracked with desperation. Melissa rushed over immediately. "What's wrong?"
I jabbed a finger at Amy's seat, my voice shaking.
"My girlfriend is gone!"
"She was right here when the turbulence hit, and then the lights went out and she just disappeared!"
Melissa frowned, glancing at the empty seat beside mine.
"Sir, are you sure you're not mistaken?" She tilted her head, genuinely puzzled. "We only saw you board alone. We never saw any girlfriend."
Again.
That same blank, bewildered expression.
That same word-for-word answer.
My heart hammered against my ribs. I yanked out my phone, swiping frantically through my photo gallery.
"How could you not have seen her? You just took a photo with her—"
The words died in my throat.
The photo we'd taken together, the three of us, Amy, Melissa, and me, was gone.
And it wasn't just that one. The grid of photos I'd posted to Instagram, the pictures and messages I'd sent to the family group chat, all of it had vanished. Every last trace, wiped clean.
What the hell was happening?
"Sir, I don't know what photo you're talking about, but I truly have never seen this girlfriend of yours." Melissa's tone was patient but firm. "The plane is still in flight. Please return to your seat and fasten your seatbelt."
I didn't sit down. Instead, I turned to Bertram, desperate for confirmation.
"Sir, you saw my girlfriend just now, right? You complimented her. You said she was beautiful, that my parents would love her."
Bertram raised his head and stared at me, his face a mask of utter confusion.
"Son, what are you talking about?"
"When did I ever compliment your girlfriend? I've never even laid eyes on her." He gestured at the empty seat beside me. "From the moment I boarded this plane, you've been sitting here by yourself. That seat has been empty the entire time. Nobody has sat there."
His tone was calm. Matter-of-fact. As though every word out of his mouth were the plain, simple truth.
And the more natural he sounded, the more wrong it all felt.
"That's impossible," I said. "You said it to her face. You praised her, right in front of me. She's been with me this whole flight. There's no way you didn't see her."
The moment the words left my mouth, passengers across the cabin turned to stare. Their eyes carried something between pity and suspicion.
"Kid, I remember you boarding alone."
"That seat next to you has been empty since takeoff. What girlfriend?"
"Maybe the turbulence rattled you. You're not thinking straight. Could be your mind playing tricks on you."
I looked from face to face, searching for a single crack in their certainty, a flicker of recognition, anything.
"You all clapped for us!" My voice rose, raw and ragged. "You congratulated us! You wished us a lifetime of happiness together!"
"Don't you remember?!"
One by one, they shook their heads, blank-faced.
"Congratulations? No."
"It's been quiet this whole flight. Nobody said anything like that."
"Son, you don't look so good. Why don't you sit down and rest for a bit?"
They spoke over each other, casual and unhurried, their expressions open and guileless.
As if the applause, the cheering, the well-wishes for Amy and me had never happened.
But that was impossible.
Every moment was seared into my memory. The clapping. The smiles. Amy peeling a tangerine, the citrus scent still lingering on my fingers. I remembered it all, vivid and sharp, down to the smallest detail.
So how could a living, breathing person simply vanish at thirty thousand feet?
