I wasn’t even supposed to be on that flight. The original plan was to leave Thursday morning, attend the quick two-hour client meeting, and be back by Friday afternoon. But plans changed—as they always do in my line of work—and suddenly, I was booked on a Tuesday red-eye to Chicago.
I hate red-eyes. No sleep, too many people pretending they’ll sleep, and the smell of questionable airport food lingering far too long in the air. But I had no choice. We needed to land this partnership, and my manager thought it was “a great growth opportunity” for me to present on behalf of the team. Which is corporate-speak for: “The VP can’t make it, so you’re going.”
I was halfway through a dry bagel and nursing a lukewarm coffee at Gate C12 when I first noticed someone familiar walking by. At first, I thought my tired eyes were playing tricks on me. You know how airports are—everyone looks like someone you went to high school with, or someone you once saw on TV. But then the person stopped, turned their head a little, and that’s when I gasped.
“No way,” I whispered to myself.
There, standing not fifteen feet away, scrolling through their phone with a travel pillow looped around their neck, was Emma Carter. My old college roommate. The Emma Carter who used to blast indie folk music during finals week, who once helped me move out of my dorm at 3 a.m. after a bad breakup, and who I hadn’t seen in almost eight years.
For a moment, I debated not saying anything. What if she didn’t remember me? What if she was in a rush? But the excitement got the better of me.
“Emma?” I called out, cautiously walking toward her.
She looked up, blinking, then smiled slowly. “Oh my god. Leah? Leah Morgan?”
We both laughed and hugged like no time had passed.
“Wow,” she said, pulling back and eyeing me up and down. “You look… amazing!”
“Same to you! What are you doing here?”
Emma grinned. “Quick work trip. I’m presenting at a medical tech conference in Chicago.”
I stared at her, blinking in disbelief. “I’m going to Chicago! Same thing—work meeting. What are the odds?”
We ended up on the same flight, sitting two rows apart. Before takeoff, we swapped stories across the aisle, both of us trying to cram eight years of life into twenty rushed minutes.
She’d gone into medical research—something she always talked about in college but I’d assumed was a passing phase. Now she was leading a project on using AI to detect early signs of Parkinson’s. I told her about my work in product strategy and how this client meeting might be the key to a promotion I’d been gunning for.
It felt surreal. We were both so different, yet the same. I remembered how we used to sit on our twin beds, legs crossed, eating cheap takeout and dreaming about “real adult lives.” And here we were—actually living them.
When we landed, we decided to grab coffee before heading to our hotels. We found a quiet little café not far from O’Hare, the kind with chalkboard menus and old jazz humming in the background. We talked for another hour, this time more slowly, really catching up.
She told me she’d been through a rough breakup last year but was now seeing someone new. I confessed that I’d been so married to my job, I hadn’t been on a real date in six months. We laughed about how different adult relationships were compared to our college flings.
Then, somewhere between her telling me about her latest research grant and me explaining the ridiculousness of my company’s dress code policy, she paused.
“You know,” she said, smiling thoughtfully, “I’ve always wondered if we’d cross paths again. There was just something about our time together—it mattered.”
I nodded. “Yeah. It really did.”
Later, as we said goodbye outside her hotel, she hugged me and whispered, “Don’t wait another eight years, okay?”
“Deal.”
And just like that, we went our separate ways.
The client meeting went fine. Better than fine, actually. I nailed the presentation, answered every question with confidence, and even cracked a joke that landed—something rare in those stiff conference rooms. My manager texted me afterward: “Great job today. Let’s talk next week. Excited about your future here.”
But honestly? The best part of the whole trip had already happened at Gate C12.
Sometimes, life throws you a surprise you didn’t even know you needed. Running into Emma reminded me of who I used to be—curious, ambitious, and open to the unexpected. Somewhere along the way, in all the hustle of deadlines and performance reviews, I’d lost that spark. Seeing her brought it back, even if just a little.
As I boarded my return flight on Friday, this time blessedly in daylight, I scrolled through my phone and found an old photo of us—arms slung around each other, wide grins, at some long-forgotten college party. I sent it to her with the caption: “Look who I ran into on this quick work trip!”
She replied a few minutes later:
“Best layover ever. Let’s not wait so long next time. Brunch soon?”
Absolutely.
