Mike tries to get "Don" back

The cabin lights had dimmed, and most of the passengers were sleeping. Don sat quietly beside Mike, eyes half-lidded, fingers tracing the seam of the blanket in his lap.

Mike leaned closer. “Let’s practice,” he whispered.

Don blinked slowly. “Practice what?”

“Your English. The old you. We have to get you back, Don.”

Don gave a faint smile that looked nothing like the ones Mike remembered. “I already speak English.”

“Not like before,” Mike said. He flipped open the notebook they’d been using earlier in the trip. “Say this: ‘I’m going home to America.’”

Don hesitated, then repeated softly, “I go home… America.”

Mike’s brow creased. “No — I’m going home to America.”

Don tried again, but this time his voice lifted at the end, like a question: “I’m going home… America?” His eyes softened, almost shy, and the way he tilted his head was pure Xue Li.

Mike sighed. “And this one: ‘I’m happy to see my friends again.’”

Don’s lips curved, but the words came out as, “I happy… see friends.” Then, in Chinese, under his breath: “很高兴见到他们.” He seemed almost unaware he’d slipped languages.

“Don,” Mike said firmly, “stay with me. You’re you. You’re not her.”

Don’s smile faltered. “But she is me now.” He touched his chest lightly. “I remember how she sit, how she speak, what she want. Even now, I think about… making tea for you when we get home. That is her thought. But… it feel nice.”

Mike closed the notebook. “We just need time. Once we’re back, you’ll remember who you are.”

Don didn’t answer. He was looking down, hands folded in his lap the way Xue Li used to, legs crossed neatly at the ankle. When the flight attendant came by with water, Don thanked her in Mandarin without thinking.

Mike watched him, and for the first time, he realized that maybe the man he’d known wasn’t coming back — not all the way.