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.