You can’t sleep

You can’t sleep. The early taste of jet lag creeps in, a dull heaviness behind your eyes, but your mind refuses to quiet. Around you, the cabin dims as passengers settle in for the long haul. The hum of the engines, the soft rustle of blankets, the occasional *click* of a seatbelt being unfastened—everyone is already getting ready to sleep.

Your neighbors are no exception. They shuffle, adjust, and finally collapse into their own versions of comfort, but not before turning and twisting a few times, their movements jostling your elbows and knees. It doesn’t take long for you to realize: you won’t be able to move without disturbing them.

On your left, the girl doesn’t even wait for your permission. With a quick, practiced motion, she lifts the armrest separating you, claiming the extra space as her own. She shuffles in her seat, shifting sideways until her back presses against the very edge of your space. It’s clear she’s done this before—booking the middle seat just to sprawl into it, treating it like an extension of her own. Her knee bumps against yours, half expecting you to give her more room, but you can’t really move away.

Meanwhile, on your right, the other girl is unfolding a warm quilt. She pulls out a small pump and inflates her travel pillow, then props her feet up on it, lifting them off the floor.

They’re settled. And you? You’re trapped.

Soon, you don’t know where to put yourself. Your arms feel pinned, your legs cramped. You regret not stowing your backpack in the overhead compartment—it’s now a bulky barrier between your feet. But then again, since sleep is out of the question, you’re almost glad for the easy access. Your books, your portable game console, your camera—all within reach. Small comforts in a space that feels like it’s shrinking by the minute.

Since you can’t sleep, you decide to start playing with your console. Minutes, then hours pass. You’re starting to get used to your neighbors twisting in their seat, their elbows nudging your arms, their movements occasionally jamming your fingers onto the controller. You’ve already lost a life in your game this way—nearly died, actually.

There’s no point in trying to avoid brushing against them. Unless you could stop breathing for the rest of the flight, it’s a lost cause.

The girl on the left sighs in her sleep, rolling towards the windows and pushing her bottom against your hip, slighty lifting her skirt at the same time. On the right, she shuffles as well and rests her head dangerously close to your shoulder. You pray she doesn’t drool in her sleep.

You freeze. Stuck between two people who’ve already forgotten you’re there, left to stare at the seat in front of you, the dim glow of your console casting a faint light your flushed face. You think you won’t be able to fall asleep anymore, not because you’re not exhausted, but because the warmth of their bodies, the accidental touches, the sheer closeness of it all has your mind racing in ways you can’t ignore.