How To Book A Flight For International Travel?

Holland, the Caribbean, England, France... Lively flight attendant Blair Ozkan was used to a busy life with adventures and many lush destinations. She was living her own dream when an accident with a cup of green coffee brought Commander Voitovich into her life, giving her world a new perspective. Dimitri is a handsome and fun-loving Russian who was unwilling to pass up any opportunity that life would give him, including the one that put the beautiful stewardess in his path. Between their routine encounters and mismatches, a beautiful friendship emerges, and against everything they believed in, the feeling begins to evolve into something more, confronting a conviction they both had in common: long distance relationships don't work. Is it possible to live a love amidst complex schedules and diverse destinies?

All I wanted was to see my grandmother one last time. I booked the earliest flight out. I got to the airport early. I did everything right. It still wasn’t enough. At the gate, the agent barely looked at me before deciding I didn’t belong. One glance at my worn clothes, and I was already dismissed. “Flight’s overbooked. You’ve been moved.” Just like that. Meanwhile, the passengers behind me with designer coats, tailored suits, platinum status, walked straight through. No questions asked. No delays. Some even got help with their luggage. I didn’t have time to argue. “My grandmother is dying,” I said. “Please. If I miss this flight, I won’t make it in time. Can you at least ask if someone’s willing to switch? I’ll pay.” He leaned back, unimpressed. “People say that all the time,” he said. “And you? You expect me to believe it?” Then he smiled. “What, do you think your family owns this airline?” I stopped arguing. Stopped pleading. Wiped my tears and stood up. Because what he didn’t know was my family does own the airline.

During a long holiday, my husband booked flights for a family vacation. On the way to the airport, I suddenly saw numbers appearing on everyone’s head. The numbers on my husband’s head indicated sixty years, but my parents and I had only six hours indicated on our heads. While I was puzzled over the meaning of those numbers, I noticed that the driver next to us only had six seconds indicated over his head through the car window. Five… Four… Three… Two… One. When the number turned zero, a massive truck immediately rammed into the car next to us. I saw flickers of fire, flesh and blood exploding before my eyes. People were screaming for help, but I could not hear anything. I trembled as cold sweat drenched my entire body. It was because my flight would be taking off in six hours.

On the flight home, the plane starts shaking violently. Certain I'm about to die, I call my husband, Rhys Callahan, to say my last words. He hangs up on me, and his auto-reply flashes on the screen. "Driving. On my way to pick up Daphne." I've taken 86 flights in our five years of marriage. Every time I'm about to land, I ask him to come get me, and every time, the answer is the same. "Daphne's getting in too. I have to pick her up." He picks up Daphne Langston all 86 times. The lowest point comes during a rainstorm. I drag my suitcase through the downpour outside the terminal for two hours, unable to get a ride. When I call him, Daphne's voice comes through, laughing. "Oh, Rhys is helping me with my luggage right now. He can't come to the phone." Now the cabin fills with screaming and sobbing. The plane spirals out of control at cruising altitude, the left wing shearing away as flames light up the windows. My phone buzzes with a message from him. "Just picked Daphne up. What time do you land? I'll come get you." I stare at the screen and let out a bitter laugh. After five years, he's finally offering to pick me up. But fire swallows the plane as it plunges toward the ground. He doesn't know I'm no longer coming home.

I catch the eye of a talent scout on the street and am sent abroad for training. However, as soon as I land, my passport is snatched away. I'm even locked into a cage. The people who beat me up tell me death is the only path for people who disobey orders at Elder Corporation. But if my memory serves me correctly, Elder Corporation is the name of my fiancé's company abroad.

As I'm unable to get a ticket for my return trip after the Thanksgiving holiday, I specifically booked a first-class seat home. Just as I find my seat, I see an unruly child jumping around on it. I patiently smile and say, "Kid, this is my seat. Where is your seat?" He makes a face at me. "It's mine now, old hag!" I grab him by the collar of his shirt, wanting to lift him out of the seat. At that moment, a woman's piercing voice sounds behind me. "What are you doing? Let go of my son!" I release my grip and say as gently as possible, "Please control your child. This is my seat." Suddenly, she raises her voice. "He's just a child! Can't you, as an adult, give way to him? You're young and dressed decently. How can you have no compassion at all?" I'm so angered by this distorted reasoning that I laugh. "If you're so compassionate, why didn't you spend the money to buy your child a first-class seat?"