Is 'Fly On' By Coldplay Based On A True Story?

"Don’t talk. Just listen.” Chloe tilted her head, her eyes gleaming with cruel amusement. “Do you remember what happened on October 13th, 2014?” she asked. Mira’s eyes widened. “Why are you bringing back my pain, Chloe?” she whispered, her voice trembling. Chloe giggled, a soft, wicked sound. “On that day, you lost the one thing that ever mattered to you,” she said slowly. “The one thing you wanted so badly with Ethan… a child.” Tears gathered in Mira’s eyes. Her heart ached with the memory. But Chloe wasn’t done. She leaned closer and said, “Have you ever wondered how your son really died, Mira?” Mira’s eyes flickered with confusion and fear. Chloe smiled and sat down beside her. “You see,” she began, “when I was abroad, I had a bone marrow issue. I needed a transplant. And guess what? Ethan and I were still in contact back then.” Mira’s throat went dry. She swallowed hard but said nothing. Chloe continued, her voice dripping with pride. “Ethan was the one who brought up the idea of using Adrian’s bone marrow. Your son’s.” Mira froze, her heart pounding painfully in her chest. “Yes,” Chloe said, grinning. “He secretly brought me back to the city to get it done. And do you remember the car accident he had around that time? It was all staged. Ethan did it to cover up what happened—because Adrian couldn’t make it after the transplant.” Mira stared at her, tears spilling down her

After deciding to leave Azurea and follow Clara Miller to Northwood City, I was cast out by my parents. "That girl is an orphan–what can she possibly give you? If you choose a life of hardship now, you’ll spend the rest of your life suffering! Once you walk out that door, don’t bother coming back!" I left anyway. For five years, I watched Clara rise step by step, becoming one of Northwood City’s most respected psychologists. Just as she had promised, she gave me a home. As the New Year approached, I planned to take her back to Azurea to reconcile with my parents. However, just before boarding the plane, she abandoned me again–this time for a depressed patient threatening to take his own life. She let go of my hand, her eyes full of pain. "Julian Vance… he’s just like I used to be–alone, with no one to rely on. If I don’t go, he’ll jump. I’m sorry. Just this once. I’ll catch the next flight and meet you there." Then she turned and ran toward the exit without hesitation. I stood there, staring at the two plane tickets in my hand. She had saved everyone who needed redemption. Everyone… except me. Slowly, I tore up her ticket. Then I walked alone toward the security gate and turned off my phone. What Clara did not know was this: Some journeys home, once missed, are gone forever.

Brandon Smith has flown for eight years. I've been with him since the time he was an assistant pilot, all the way until he successfully rose to the ranks as the head pilot. In the year Brandon's busiest with his career, I resign from my job and begin cooking according to his aviation schedule. Just once, I bring up the question, "Can you please show me the sight of being thousands of feet in the air in the near future? Just once, please!" Brandon continues eating from his plate. "The plane is a workplace, not an amusement park for you." I reply, "Okay." Since then, I never bring up that matter in front of him. That is, until I find myself suffering from insomnia one night. That's when I accidentally come across an encrypted photo album tucked away in Brandon's phone. There are over 40 photos in the album, all from his perspective as a pilot. There are seas of clouds, sunsets, double rainbows after a downpour, as well as the Milky Way in the night sky when the plane is over thousands of feet in the sky. Every photo has been sent to the same person with a bear's emoji as their name. The latest photo is a photo of the beautiful evening colors from three days ago. Half of the sun can be seen in the clouds. The caption that comes with the photo says, "Today's sky is still beautiful as ever. When you come over next time, you can take the observation seat on the right. It gives you the best angle of the sky." The bear emoji person responds with a hugging emoji and a short sentence. "Wait for me to go on my break." I put Brandon's phone back where it belongs without changing the password and deleting the album. Once the morning sun is up, I brew myself some coffee as usual before finishing it quietly. Then, I turn on my computer and book myself a flight ticket to Dalco. It's been eight years. Finally, I don't have to chase after Brandon's flight routes and wait for his mealtimes. I no longer have to stay in an empty house while guessing which flight destination he's headed to right now. Since Brandon's sky refuses to tolerate my presence, I shall move my roots elsewhere and watch the sunset on my own.

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.

When Steven Baxter, the heartthrob of the school, admits that he loves action movies the most, my childhood friend, Lisa Thornton, has my limbs strapped to four huge drones. During the flag-raising ceremony on Monday morning, the drones lift me high up in the air in front of the entire school. The students' laughter is deafeningly loud. The videos they take quickly go viral, too. I only get to return to the surface once the drones finally run out of power and make their descent automatically. With a wide grin on her face, Lisa unties me from the drones. "Steven loves action movies, so we had you cosplay the main character from the most popular Tom Cruise movie. "We grew up together since we were kids, Dominic. Surely you don't mind, right?" As I sit on the ground, Steven pulls Lisa into his arms before he starts guffawing at me. Tears soon streak down his face from all the laughing. "I can't believe you actually peed yourself!" "Ahahahaha!" I get up to my feet and walk away. From then on, I don't return to Lisa's side. But Lisa soon loses her mind. "We've known each other for ten years! Must you really do this to me?"

I disappeared in the year Sebastian Ferraro loved me most. For thirteen years, he never got an explanation. And for thirteen years, I punished myself by never watching his games, never saying his name, and never thinking about the promise we made in that old hockey rink. Until I returned to this city and saw a faded poster outside the abandoned arena. Sebastian was only seventeen in the photo. He stood at the center of the ice, bright-eyed and fearless, with one sentence printed beneath him: Wait for me past the blue line. That was his promise to me. And I had missed it for thirteen years. Later, I collapsed inside his arena. When I woke up, the boy I had once failed was standing beside my hospital bed. Only he was no longer a boy. He was a professional hockey star. The heir to the Ferraro crime family. And a man whose fiancée was about to marry him. I wanted to tell him why I had left all those years ago. But he looked at me and said coldly, “The past is over. Don’t cause any misunderstandings.” That was when I finally understood. I no longer had the right to disturb his life. So I smiled, swallowed every truth I had kept buried, and booked a flight to New Zealand. I thought leaving was the last thing I could do for him. Until that plane disappeared from radar. The news spread through the whole city. Everyone said Sebastian Ferraro lost control at the airport. He went through the passenger list again and again, screaming my name like a man who had already lost everything.