4. Minor injury

 Continuation.

His comment reminds me of how and why I got to this point, and the promise I made. Once again, I apologize, move away, and return my attention to the book. He seems like he's about to say something, but hesitates, straightens his posture that was previously leaning towards me, and continues watching the movie.

    In the front row, there's a lady with a baby who seems to be about six months old, and in front of them, a man with an angelic-faced little girl who appears to be around four years old. I believe he's the husband and the girl's father, judging by the way they're looking at the baby. For some reason unknown to the parents, the baby is crying uncontrollably, and they can't seem to calm him down.

The woman is desperate, not knowing what to do, and the father tries to calm the little girl who is getting anxious due to her brother. Other passengers are whispering things that I can't hear properly, but I can imagine what it is. I feel sorry for the mother who is not succeeding in calming down the child, and the guy next to me mumbles something and then puts on his headphones to try to drown out the noise, just like the others.

One of the flight attendants approaches and asks if they need anything to stop the baby crying. I get up and go to help them. I don't have any children of my own, but I'm good with kids, I've looked after lots of them, from the calmest to the most fussy.

    "My boy, what's wrong? Tell Mommy," I asked the lady with the long, straight black hair.

    "Hello, is everything all right? My name is Nihara. Is this your first trip with him? I approach the lady, who rocks the baby back and forth.

    "Yes, I don't know what's wrong, maybe that's why."

    "Can I try?" I hold out my hands to the baby. "Hello, little prince, what's wrong? Tell auntie."

The baby looks at me as I play, hesitates for a moment, but then throws himself into my arms.

    I lay him on his stomach while holding him, rocking him back and forth, moving from side to side, and the crying starts to subside. I hold him facing me, make faces at him, and he smiles.

    "Who's the prettiest baby?" He smiles as I tickle his tummy.

I blow on my lips to make them quiver, and the boy does the same. The parents look at us, surprised and relieved, as are the other passengers, that I can do this. I feel Tobias' gaze on me, but he disguises it when I look at him. I see a small, playful smile on his face, the first so far; this man doesn't seem to smile much.

    "How can she let a stranger hold her son? I hear the sad comment from the passenger in the other row.

    "If more strangers were humble, understanding, and kind, the world would be a lot better off now," I reply, giving him a disapproving look. "And sometimes the solution to our problems lies in the hands of strangers. Why do we go to the doctor anyway?"

    "Tell Mom, I was just scared, and look, I was too. It's my first flight, I was really scared, and that man over there helped me," the baby looks at me as if he understands. "But unlike you, I couldn't cry. Well, I could, but an adult crying for fear of flying wouldn't be very nice, would it?"

The baby smiles.

I hand him back to his mother, who now has a sparkle in her eyes. Gratefully, she holds him and passes him to his father. Their daughter looks at me with a sweet smile, as if she's also thanking me.

    "Thank you so much, for kindness… He's never had a crying fit like that before," she looks at her husband, who nods in agreement.

    "Oh, I didn't do much, like I said to… oh, by the way, what's his name?" I ask, looking at the little girl.

    "Oliver, and I'm Olivia," she smiles and extends her tiny hand to me.

    "Such beautiful names, they match those cute and angelic faces," I give her cheeks a loving pinch. "I'm Nihara."

    "I'm Adele, and this is my husband, Stephen," she extends her hand to me.

    "Pleasure to meet you. What a lovely family," I say, shaking Mr. Stephen's hand in return.

    "Here, take my card. In case you need anything, I'd like to repay your kind help somehow," the man in his 40s, tall with light hair and sky-blue eyes, speaks up and hands me a business card.

Please, don't worry about that, it was my pleasure, and you don't need to repay anything. Don't bother with it," I decline the card.

    "Please, accept it," the lady insists.

    "Alright, I'll accept. Thank you."

The business card is black with a symbol that represents justice. It quickly occurs to me that he might be a lawyer or something similar. On the left side is his name in bold font, "Stephen Ballario Lencaster," followed by the description "Criminal Defense Attorney," and his contact information below. The card is quite impressive.

    "Please don't hesitate to contact us if you need anything, whatever it might be," Mr. Stephen adds.

    I snap out of my observation trance as his voice reaches my ears.

    "Yes, of course, but only because I want to see these treasures again. Look who's asleep now," I make a cute face. "I think it's best for you to rest, too; we still have a long way to go."

    I return to my seat.

    "You were amazing, and the baby seemed to understand what you were saying. Do you have children?" he breaks the silence that lasted a few seconds.

    "So you were watching us, huh?" I glance at him from the corner of my eye.

    "Me and all the other passengers," he makes a circular motion in the air with his left index finger. "It was really kind of you to help these folks."

    "It was nothing, and no, I don't have children, but I love kids and have taken care of many, so I know how to deal with them. He was just scared, like I was."

    "Do you plan to have children?" he inquires with interest.

    "Yes, of course," I respond, gazing at an empty spot.

I just won't do it conventionally, I whisper to myself.

He looks at me confused, but for some reason, he doesn't delve into that topic further and moves on to another. Before I know it, we've been talking for hours. Everything flows naturally; we start with the topic of babies and move on to jobs and goals. I tell him about wanting to advance my career as a graphic designer and photographer. He tells me he works in advertising and marketing and that he was in Angola for an international entrepreneurship event organized by the branch of the company he works for.

    "Does that mean I should let you sleep?" he asks when he sees me yawning.

    "Sorry, but I'm really sleepy, and you need to sleep too. We still have about 10 hours of flight left," I cover my mouth with my hand to stifle another yawn.

Despite being incredibly tired, I decide to jot down the recent events in my personal journal, my confidant that I made myself. The design is beautiful, the cover is a velvety hardcover with an image of a butterfly, in gradient colors of pink, blue, and yellow. The journal is completely covered, giving it the appearance of a small bag with a zipper. I end up falling asleep, and as I shift to my side, the journal slips from my lap.