My heart hammered against my ribs. I yanked out my phone, swiping frantically through my photo gallery.
"How could you not have seen her? You just took a photo with her—"
The words died in my throat.
The photo we'd taken together, the three of us, Amy, Melissa, and me, was gone.
And it wasn't just that one. The grid of photos I'd posted to Instagram, the pictures and messages I'd sent to the family group chat, all of it had vanished. Every last trace, wiped clean.
What the hell was happening?
"Sir, I don't know what photo you're talking about, but I truly have never seen this girlfriend of yours." Melissa's tone was patient but firm. "The plane is still in flight. Please return to your seat and fasten your seatbelt."
I didn't sit down. Instead, I turned to Bertram, desperate for confirmation.
"Sir, you saw my girlfriend just now, right? You complimented her. You said she was beautiful, that my parents would love her."
Bertram raised his head and stared at me, his face a mask of utter confusion.
"Son, what are you talking about?"
"When did I ever compliment your girlfriend? I've never even laid eyes on her." He gestured at the empty seat beside me. "From the moment I boarded this plane, you've been sitting here by yourself. That seat has been empty the entire time. Nobody has sat there."
His tone was calm. Matter-of-fact. As though every word out of his mouth were the plain, simple truth.
And the more natural he sounded, the more wrong it all felt.
"That's impossible," I said. "You said it to her face. You praised her, right in front of me. She's been with me this whole flight. There's no way you didn't see her."
The moment the words left my mouth, passengers across the cabin turned to stare. Their eyes carried something between pity and suspicion.
"Kid, I remember you boarding alone."
"That seat next to you has been empty since takeoff. What girlfriend?"
"Maybe the turbulence rattled you. You're not thinking straight. Could be your mind playing tricks on you."
I looked from face to face, searching for a single crack in their certainty, a flicker of recognition, anything.
"You all clapped for us!" My voice rose, raw and ragged. "You congratulated us! You wished us a lifetime of happiness together!"
"Don't you remember?!"
One by one, they shook their heads, blank-faced.
"Congratulations? No."
"It's been quiet this whole flight. Nobody said anything like that."