“Somewhere above North India, although I am on my way, I am already there”

The window is fixed, but the views keep changing. Clouds, coastlines, cities sliding past. The frame stays the same, cities sliding past, but the story shifts every mile.

Last year, I was arriving from Sicily to Istanbul, without knowing what I was stepping into. A place that has been a crossroads of ancient civilisations, carrying the fingerprints of countless histories. For someone like me, it was a leap.

By the time I left, I had found an unexpected affection for it, one that has been pulling me back ever since. 

Now, as the cabin hums around me, with linen, a flatbed waiting and aisle lights low, I notice the service. Sharp and personable. Not just polished, but human. The crew have that instinct for appearing at exactly the right moment, often before I even think to ask. It reminds me of my own work; no matter how full the day, you show up with purpose, warmth, and professionalism. I enjoy chatting with them, but I also know they need moments to themselves.

So I sit back with a fruit plate and water, letting the hum of the engines carry me. Not just toward Istanbul, but back into a feeling I know I will find again when we touch down.