The plane hummed softly as it cut through the sky, carrying the students and their teacher home after what felt like an endless museum trip. The interior was filled with quiet murmurs and the occasional sound of zippers, snacks being unwrapped, and phones clicking. Most of the students were too tired to talk, heads leaned against windows or slumped in their seats.
Nate sat near the middle of the plane, his body unnaturally stiff as he clutched the armrests. His right hand shook slightly from nerves—though not entirely because of the flight.
Beside him sat Bella Sinclair, and he was all too aware of her presence.
Bella wasn't just any girl. She was the girl.
Her beauty was striking—effortlessly flawless in a way that turned heads the moment she entered a room. Long, flowing blonde hair framed her delicate features, catching the light from the small plane window like spun gold. Her blue eyes, sharp and observant, had a way of cutting through people, though right now they were focused elsewhere. She wore a casual white blouse and jeans, somehow looking elegant despite the simplicity of her clothes. It was a talent only someone like Bella possessed.
Everyone in school knew her. Everyone admired her.
And Nate? Nate couldn't even turn his head in her direction. His gaze was locked on his trembling hands, his unkempt hair hanging low over his face like a shield. He imagined her taking one look at him and feeling nothing but disappointment. What's a guy like me doing sitting next to someone like her? he thought, swallowing nervously.
Bella, for her part, hadn't given him much more than a single glance. Her gaze had flitted past him earlier, and Nate knew exactly what she saw—a lanky boy with shaggy, uncombed hair, his face barely visible beneath it. His clothes were rumpled, his posture awkward, and his shoulders slumped inward as if trying to disappear into the seat.
She didn't say anything, but she didn't need to. Nate figured she probably thought he looked "mid" at best—average, unremarkable, and certainly not worth noticing.
The low hum of the plane was suddenly disrupted by a jolt.
The cabin rattled as the plane hit a patch of turbulence, jolting passengers in their seats. Someone gasped a few rows ahead.
A calm voice crackled over the speakers—professional, reassuring, with only the faintest edge of concern:
"Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. We are currently experiencing a bit of turbulence. Please remain calm and ensure your seatbelts are securely fastened. There's no need to worry—this is a normal occurrence and will pass shortly. Thank you."
Nate's knuckles turned white as he gripped the armrest tighter. He could feel his pulse racing, the thud of his heart audible in his ears.
Bella sighed lightly next to him, adjusting her seatbelt. She glanced at Nate briefly, raising an eyebrow at his rigid posture. "You okay?" she asked, her tone polite but distant.
Nate's throat dried up. He couldn't answer, so he just gave a stiff nod, staring straight ahead.
The plane jolted again, sending a ripple of nervous murmurs through the cabin. The buzz of the captain's voice had done little to calm everyone—especially Nate, whose imagination now raced wildly with every possible worst-case scenario.
And yet, beside him, Bella looked unbothered. She leaned back in her seat, her expression relaxed, as if the turbulence was nothing more than a bump in the road.
Nate, meanwhile, remained locked in place, feeling like the smallest, most insignificant person on the plane.
The plane jolted again—harder this time. It wasn't just a small bump; it felt as though something massive had slammed into them. Passengers screamed, the overhead compartments shook, and trays rattled against their hinges.
Nate gasped, his knuckles white as he gripped the armrest like it was the only thing keeping him alive. Bella, for the first time, tensed beside him, her wide blue eyes flickering with unease.
The pilot's voice returned, calm but hurried.
"Ladies and gentlemen, please remain seated and keep your seatbelts fastened. We are experiencing—"
The words were cut short.
A deafening BOOM erupted through the cabin. It sounded like thunder cracking right inside the plane. The force of the explosion sent shockwaves through the fuselage, shaking everything violently. Luggage tumbled from the overhead compartments, oxygen masks dropped from the ceiling, and the lights flickered.
Screams filled the air.
Nate's ears were ringing as he whipped his head toward the window. His eyes widened in pure horror. The wing was gone.
A chunk of the plane's wing was just… missing, jagged metal still glowing from the explosion. Through the shredded opening, all he could see was the gray storm clouds, swirling with terrifying intensity.
His chest heaved as panic overtook him. "No, no, no!" he screamed, his voice cracking.
His body was frozen with terror, his muscles locked in place. Suddenly, one of the overhead compartments burst open with a snap. A large bag flew out, hurtling straight toward him.
He didn't even have time to react.
WHAM!
The bag struck his forehead, and everything went black.
---
When Nate opened his eyes, he was staring at a sky that didn't look quite real—gray and fractured, like an unfinished painting. His vision was blurry, and for a moment, he couldn't hear anything except the dull thud of his own heartbeat.
Blinking rapidly, he tried to focus. His body ached. His head throbbed. The last thing he remembered was the explosion—then nothing.
As his vision cleared, reality hit him like a freight train.
The plane had crashed.
The upper half of the fuselage was… gone. Torn away. Jagged edges of metal framed the sky, and debris lay scattered everywhere—seat cushions, luggage, shattered trays. It looked like a skeleton of what used to be an aircraft.
Nate was still strapped into his seat near the back. He turned his head weakly to the side, and his heart dropped.
Bella wasn't there.
Her seat was empty, the buckle unfastened. Where is she? he thought frantically, his chest tightening.
Suddenly he brought his attention downward. His breath caught in his throat.
A long, jagged piece of metal had pierced his leg. The shard was glinting with fresh blood—his blood. Nate reached out, his trembling fingers brushing against the scrap. It felt cold.
He tried to move his leg, to shift even an inch, but… nothing.
There was no sensation—no pain, no feeling at all—from his lower body.
"No…" Nate whispered, his voice cracking. His breaths came faster, more panicked. "No, no, no!"
Desperation took over as he grabbed the shard of metal and yanked it free with a cry. The movement sent a wave of nausea through him, but still—he felt nothing from the waist down.
His mind raced. I can't feel it. I can't feel my legs.
The realization settled over him like a dark cloud, suffocating and absolute. He didn't need a doctor to explain what had happened. He knew.
He was paralyzed.
Tears stung his eyes as the weight of it all came crashing down—the explosion, the crash, the lifeless feeling in his legs. A sob escaped his throat, and he slumped back in his seat, staring blankly at the destroyed remains of the plane.
He couldn't move. He couldn't run. He couldn't do anything.