“Final boarding call for Flight 7584 to…” I can hear the boom of the P.A. fading out only to be replaced by the pounding of my heart. I just saw her at the TSA checkpoint. My eyes scan through the varying faces in the crowd, none of which resemble hers. Hoping she is on this flight, I decide to board. 

As I wait in line, I glance ahead down the jetway. I spot what I believe to be the back of her head and hope that she will turn so I can confirm her face. Suddenly, a large man cuts her off, and in a second she vanishes like the sun slipping below the horizon. All I can do now is pray - pray that she is on this flight, and pray that I see her again. 

Walking down the aisle, I examine both sides carefully. I do a double take and see the same back of the head I had spotted earlier. I reach out to touch her arm, and she turns, her questioning eyes locking with mine. It's not her. As I reach my seat, I am hit by a wave of disappointment. I hear the clicking of heels as someone rushes on board as they are closing the exits. “You almost missed it!” the flight attendant chuckles. 

I recognize those brunette locks and emerald eyes, flustered and anxious. A sense of reassurance washes over me. We glance at one another, acknowledging each other's presence. A few moments later, our eyes lock again, but this time I hold hers a few seconds longer. She casts me a shy smile which I automatically return. Over the next hour, I can feel her gaze fall on me repeatedly, but I don’t look over at her. I have never been this nervous around anyone before. It is a strange feeling. 

I muster up the courage to turn toward her and find her eyes already on mine. Clearly, we are both well aware of the other. 

I see her slight figure rise to move toward the restroom. Now’s my chance to speak to her, but as I try to get up, I feel as if I am glued to my seat. I feel the window of time closing. 10, 9, 8... I tell myself, “Come on! You can do this!” But I can’t. 

I hear the sound of the toilet flush. The time is ticking. 5,4... “This is your last chance,” screams my brain. I hear the door open. “ Now! Move!” Negative. It’s too late, and now I’ve missed my only window; after ten minutes the poison in my syringe loses its potency. 

My target walks toward her seat and sits down calmly, oblivious to my growing fear. The agency will not be pleased.