Chapter Text
The grandfather clock on the east wall struck 9. Darkness flooded the entire room except for a lean flickering candle that stood on a desk at the corner, casting a dim yellow light. Penelope sat nestled in a wide bay window seat, her knees drawn to her chest, staring blankly at the king-sized picture of her and Colin. It was from their wedding day. Colin’s arms wrapped around her waist whispering conspiratorially in her ears, mischief gleaming in his eyes, in his smile... and Penelope’s head leaned back to his shoulder, mid-laugh at one of his witty quips. It was a candid moment captured by Benedict on his phone that made the cut to go on the frame in their bedroom out of 500 plus professionally shot photos. Pure joy and love palpable on their faces even from this still photograph. It had become a daily ritual for Penelope since the past 2 years... Every evening, sitting in that position, staring at the mahogany framed photograph sometimes lost in memories and sometimes plainly lost.
There was a soft knock on the open door followed by a cordial voice, “ma’am” which broke her from her trance. She turned towards the voice, there stood Dunwoody, their butler of 25 years, who had practically raised Colin up. He explained that ongoing roadwork in the neighbourhood had unexpectedly disrupted the power supply. The team was working to restore electricity as a priority, though there was no guaranteed timeframe for when it would return. Penelope gave a silent nod of acknowledgement, and the ever-perceptive butler departed without another word.
Her gaze drifted back to its most beloved view. It felt like only yesterday that she had met this remarkable young entrepreneur. “Business tycoon” might have sounded too grand for someone his age, but that’s exactly what he was... Mr. Colin Bridgerton, one of the country’s most successful businessmen, sharp as a whip. Penelope shut her eyes, allowing her mind to slip back in time.
4 years ago
“Excuse me! That seat is mine!” a cranky Penelope demanded. The man glanced up from his i-pad to find a petite red-head, barely 5 feet, dressed in a crisp white button-down blouse tucked neatly in a pair of high-waisted black trousers with tapered legs and a fitted black blazer that nipped at the waist to accentuate her hourglass figure. Her copper hair styled in a tight bun, yet a few stray curls escaped free here and there, indicating that she might have had them styled for some time now. Unfortunately, her face bore such annoyance which was a stark contrast to her otherwise poised demeanour.
“I beg your pardon?” he retorted, a hint of amusement creeping up his lips.
“The seat, in which you are sitting, as though your living room’s settee is mine”, she replied sternly, flapping her boarding pass in front of him making no real attempt to show him the seat number, rather to prove a point.
“Wow! That’s some attitude young lady”, he chuckled then stood to give her way to her seat.
He stood up, towering over her all six feet of him, broad shoulders, straight posture easy but not careless. His navy shirt fitted just right, the sleeves casually rolled to his elbows revealing strong and defined forearms. His chestnut hair, just little tousled, looked like it had been run through once or twice, his face clean shaven, probably from that morning. And his eyes, those deep, stormy blue eyes, even more magnificent up close. Like the sky just before a summer downpour. Not just striking in colour, but in depth, as if they saw things and didn’t flinch, as if they asked questions no one else dared voice.
Penelope tried her utmost not to look directly at them. The truth was, she had met him before, well not personally, and definitely not this up close but from amongst a crowd of students about 3 years ago. He had visited her uni as a guest lecturer. His lecture on Entrepreneurship and Innovation fascinated her, even though she had no interest in her coursework. She had a soul of a writer, but her mother insisted on getting a business degree because apparently you only land up with a decent job with an MBA. So, there she was, utterly bored and almost dozing off, until his deep masculine voice boomed through the microphone, a rich timbre that settled in her chest like a slow-burning fire. She was captivated to say the least.
Penelope recalled being in a stupor the entire time and couldn’t wait for him to leave the lecture hall before googling him. Colin Bridgerton… the 3rd born son of the late business magnet Edmund Bridgerton, 26 years of age and the CEO of the restaurant chain The Bridgy Table. Penelope’s mouth hung open at the last fact. She and Gen, her friend of 10 years had frequently visited that restaurant, she had always thought it was chic but not pretentious and strangely affordable despite its extravagant vibe. How had she never known of this gorgeous man who should be on the runway of a fashion week instead of the restaurant business. He had a postgraduate degree from Yale Business School, had won the British Business Excellence Awards 5 years in a row and had been frequently photographed in business tabloids, a big shot in the business industry, nevertheless. Way out of her league, she had thought, not that there was any chance in hell she would have approached him even if they ran in the same orbit.
Penelope unbuttoned her blazer and took it off, trying to place it in the overhead compartment, struggling due to her small stature. She huffed in frustration debating in her head whether to just put it back on even though it would be dreadful to have it on the entire flight. Just then a long pair of arms grabbed the piece of offensive clothing mid-air and carefully placed it in the compartment and closed it shut. Penelope looked up without making direct eye contact mouthing a quick thank you and squeezed past him, slumping into her window seat, her nerves starting to get the best of her. She took a few steadying breaths and began to contemplate her earlier comment and decided to apologize. She tried to gauge his mood from her periphery, but his face gave nothing away.
Penelope cleared her throat and began “umm.. I.. I am sorry for the way I spoke to you earlier”, she said in a whisper, “it’s just that I am in a bit of a panic, I hate flying… the lift off, the touch down, peeing in that tiny hole 30 thousand feet above that they call a toilet, and don’t even get me started on turbulence.!” She blabbered out.
He stared at her amused.
Penelope blinked, “sorry, you get the gist, the point is, I let my nerves get the best of me, and that is no excuse for my rudeness” she took a pause, trying to find a way to end her rambling, “so this is me”, she paused again, “apologizing…” “to you…” she finished awkwardly, glancing down at her fidgeting hands in her lap hoping for him to accept her apology.
By the time she finished, his face broke into a brilliant smile. He extended his hand towards her and said “Colin, I am Colin Bridgerton.”
She tentatively took his hand, letting his broad palm engulf her little one and responded, “I know who you are.”
Colin was taken aback, that was not the response he was expecting, his smile turning into a curious smirk, “Do you now? Because had we met before I am certain I would have remembered you” he gazed into her clear blue eyes intensely.
“Umm.. g.. goo.. google”, Penelope regretted the minute that came out of her mouth. Heat creeping up her cheeks with embarrassment. She squeezed her eyes shut and quickly continued, “what I mean to say is, you came to my uni, as a guest lecturer, that’s where I met you, not in person but I was there, among the students, I was in the final semester of my MBA”, she explained in one breath, trying to mask her unease.
Then took another deep breath, pondering on how much to reveal, after all he still was a stranger to her, famous or not. “And then, then I may or may not have googled you”, she decided to come clean, with a sheepish smile.
“Which uni was that?” Colin asked utterly intrigued by her honest confession.
“UCL, about 3 years ago”, she replied simply.
“UCL, oh yes, I remember, what a small world huh?” Colin replied.
Yeah, it only took three years, she thought to herself but only nodded in agreement.
“So, Miss UCL”, he chuckled, “it’s nice to meet you”.
“Ah right, Penelope, Penelope Featherington”, she replied smiling.
He returned her smile with the same enthusiasm giving a light pat on her palm which still rested in his.
Realization dawned on her, that they were holding hands for way longer than necessary and swiftly but carefully retreated her hand.
“It’s nice to meet you as well, Mr. Bridgerton” she said.
“Colin, please call me Colin.”
“You can call me Penelope as well.”
“First name basis! I like that” Colin chuckled.
A comfortable silence fell between them which Penelope broke after a beat, “so, do you often get recognized travelling economy?” a glint of playfulness in her eyes.
Colin rubbed his chin giving her question a mock consideration “hmm, only when someone has googled me.”
Penelope couldn’t help laughing out loud, a laughter so genuine, so contagious that Colin broke into fits of giggles right with her.
“Why are you travelling economy?” she continued with her interrogation.
Colin furrowed his brows “as opposed to my non-existent private jet?” throwing back the question at her still smiling.
“Well, at least business class I’d imagine.” She stated seriously this time.
He gave a small shrug, his smile softening. “Honestly? I’ve just never seen the need. Economy gets me to the same place, and I don’t mind a little discomfort. I guess I’ve always felt those extra perks should go to someone who really needs them—a parent with a baby, an exhausted nurse, or maybe someone flying for the first time. I’m lucky enough to fly often. That’s more than enough.”
Penelope simply nodded. His reasoning was so humbled, so honest, yet so rare.
“Besides, business class doesn’t usually come with captivating seat-mates asking all the right questions.” He said with that toothy smile which made Penelope’s cheeks turn crimson.
“As cheesy as it sounds, I have to agree that totally works.” Penelope remarked gleefully trying to divert his attention from her burning cheeks and it seemed to have worked. Colin threw his head laughing heartily and Penelope joined in giggling herself.
She felt a strange pull within her chest, like remembering a name you never knew you had forgotten. It happened when their eyes locked… mid-laugh… just a fleeting glance that lingered a second too long. Suddenly, the world seemed to have shrunk into just the two of them. Something ancient stirred beneath her ribs, soft and startling. Her breath caught. Something shifted inside her… a string she didn’t know existed had been tugged gently, insistently. A heat bloomed in her chest. Not desire exactly, not yet. Something older. Quieter. Like recognition.
She blinked, trying to anchor herself. She’d never believed in soulmates or destiny; they were all in the romance novels that she read and loved so fervently but never letting herself believe that would ever be her reality. But in that moment, she realized something unsettling yet beautiful. All her life, she had felt like a foreigner in her own skin, always made to believe that she was not enough, she did not belong. But sitting next to this stranger, for the first time, she didn’t feel out of place anymore. She felt… home.
Colin tilted his head watching her earnestly, “You okay?” he asked softly, genuine concern in his tone.
Penelope nodded slowly, lips twitching upwards in a gentle smile, “Yeah, I think I am, in a very long time.”
Colin’s gaze didn’t waver, and neither did Penelope’s. It was as if time stood still, the low hum of the plane around them softening into silence. Her heart drummed in her ears. He opened his mouth to say something, but no words came.
Just then… Ding.
The cabin lights flickered gently, and the stewardess’s voice floated over the intercom. “Ladies and gentlemen, please ensure your seat belts are securely fastened. We’ll be taking off shortly.”
The trance broke like a spell snapped mid-dream.
Penelope blinked, eyes darting away. She reached for her seat belt, the leather strap suddenly stiff in her hands. Around them, passengers shifted and rustled, trays clicked shut. Reality returned.
Colin chuckled under his breath, rubbing the back of his neck as he buckled in. “Here we go”, he quipped trying to break the awkwardness.
As the plane began taxing, Penelope’s nerves came rushing back. Her breath became shallow and ragged. She clutched on to the hand rests trying to ground herself and inwardly chastised herself for being so sensitive.
Colin glanced sideways and realized what was happening. She had started panicking.
“You know, I used to fear flying too. Once, I told my dad I didn’t like not having my feet on the ground. He just looked at me and said, “well that’s why we bring our bums. They sit for us.”
Penelope looked at him flabbergasted.
“Exactly! This was the exact look I gave my father too. I was like, ‘what?’, and he just nodded, all serious: ‘the brain worries, the feet panic, but the bum always knows… just sit and let someone else drive.’ He had this way of saying completely ridiculous things that somehow made perfect sense. Like, I swear, I once saw him calm a kid down on a roller coaster by saying, ‘Gravity’s just the Earth giving you a hug you can’t refuse.’” Colin recalled fondly.
Penelope laughed… soft, melodic, and entirely unguarded. The sound wrapped around him like sunlight through an open window, warm and unexpected. In that fleeting moment, he didn’t just hear her laughter… he felt it. And without realizing it, he made a quiet vow to himself that whatever it took, he wanted to be the reason she laughed like that again.
“And now I think about that all the time. Especially up here. Like sure, the plane’s going up, but Earth’s still here, hugging us from below. The sky’s just letting us borrow some space for a while.”
She hums in agreement, breathing easier.
Colin continues, “So if it gets bumpy, that’s just the sky giving us a nudge. A reminder we’re alive and moving. And also, probably a sign my dad would be making up some nonsense to distract us right now. So, I’m just doing my best to keep the tradition going.”
He fell silent, reminiscing the lost memories of his childhood with his father.
Penelope was aware that he had lost his dad at a very young age, thanks to public information on google, and as someone who had grown up without a father herself, she knew firsthand how difficult it was even though she did not have a bond with her dad anywhere near to what Colin seemed to have had.
She placed a gentle palm over his that was resting on the hand rest and said, “I am sure he is watching you right now and is so proud of the man that you have become.”
Colin looked at her tiny palm over his and placed his other hand over hers, gratified at her compliment.
The plane rose steadily into the clouds, engines roaring against the hush that had fallen between them. But the silence didn’t linger long. It gave way to something easy… effortless, really.
Colin turned slightly towards Penelope, his posture open, his tone light. He had the kind of presence that made the space around him feel softer, like a well-worn sweater or the first sip of warm tea. Penelope, who normally gripped the armrest white-knuckled during take-offs, found herself forgetting the altitude entirely. Her breathing slowed. Her heart stopped racing.
She listened to him speak, his voice steady and warm, and somewhere between anecdotes and observations, her fear of flying… always an unwelcome travel companion… simply melted away.
They talked about everything and nothing. Her job in marketing at a mid-sized publishing house. His work in carrying on his father’s legacy but at the same time giving it his own touch. Learning about food and culture and the strange beauty of cities. He was curious in a quiet way, drawing her out without prying, never once making her feel like she had to explain herself.
She confessed, with a laugh that was only half self-deprecating, that she wanted to write a novel someday. Something literary. Maybe quiet. Maybe strange. She hadn’t told anyone in years.
Colin didn’t flinch or smile politely. He took genuine interest, asked what it would be about, and when she answered, he listened, he actually listened.
Penelope found herself talking more than she expected. About how stories had been her way of surviving childhood loneliness. About the characters she wrote in notebooks she never showed anyone. About the little ache in her chest every time she walked past a bookstore window.
Colin shared his own meandering path… how he’d once thought about being a musician, a composer. How he still wrote songs, poems, just for himself. Neither of them said it aloud, but there was a quiet understanding between them: that life had a way of pulling people off course, but sometimes, just sometimes, you could still find someone walking beside you who spoke the same forgotten language.
The hours passed without notice. Drinks came and went. The cabin dimmed. Somewhere over the ocean, Penelope turned to look out the window and instead of dread, she felt peace.
And Colin, watching her in the dim glow of the reading light, felt something stir inside him too. A sense of familiarity he couldn’t place.
Like finding the missing piece of a lyric he’d been trying to finish for years.
The plane began its descent with a low hum and a gentle shudder. Outside, the twinkling city lights stretched beneath the gray sprawl of the scattered clouds, each rooftop slowly gaining definition as they neared the ground.
Colin felt the moment slipping.
He glanced sideways. Penelope’s face was turned towards the window, her expression unreadable in profile. But he could see her fingers, loosely laced in her lap, playing idly with the edge of the paper napkin she’d been folding and unfolding for the past few minutes.
“I guess this is it,” he said, his voice low so it wouldn’t break the odd, delicate peace they’d built over the last few hours.
She looked at him, and her smile was soft, but dimmed… like someone shielding a flame in the wind. “Yeah,” she said. “Almost.”
They didn’t speak as the plane touched down, wheels chirping against the tarmac. They didn’t need to. There was a heaviness in the air now that hadn’t been there when they talked about grief and first loves and cities they wanted to disappear into. When they’d laughed at the same dumb jokes and fallen quiet at the same pauses, it had stopped feeling like small talk and started feeling like something else.
And now… the engines slowed. The flight attendants began their practiced farewell routine. Seat belts clicked open around them. People were already pulling down bags and lining up before the door had even opened.
Colin reached for his own carry-on and her blazer at the same time, slowly, deliberately, like if he moved too fast, the whole thing would dissolve into mist.
Penelope stood beside him, tucking an errand strand of curl behind her ear, her posture suddenly formal, too straight, too careful. As though she was already building a wall between herself and everything she’d said at cruising altitude.
They stepped into the jet bridge together, walking side by side, silent.
In the terminal, the noise hit them like a wave… shouts, laughter, crying babies, the rhythmic clang of rolling luggage. The spell was breaking and neither of them ready to come out of it.
They stood together at baggage claim after collecting their luggage. Neither said anything. Neither moved to leave.
Colin adjusted the strap on his carry-on, glancing at her. “Well… here we are.”
Penelope pulled her coat tighter around her shoulders. “Yeah. Here we are.”
They both laughed, softly, awkwardly because words were too small for what they were feeling.
He looked down, scuffed his shoe against the floor. “I’m glad we sat next to each other. I don’t usually… talk like that.”
She smiled gently. “Me neither. Not to strangers, anyway.”
“But it didn’t feel like you were a stranger.” He said somewhat sheepishly.
Penelope met his eyes. Something passed between them… quick, warm, uncertain. A thread tying them together, just faint enough to ignore, but neither of them really wanted to.
“No,” she said. “It didn’t.” almost in a whisper.
There was a pause. Not an empty silence, but a full one, as if something hung in the air, waiting to be named.
He followed her gaze towards the escalators. It was the moment… that moment… when life called them both back to reality, to obligations, to the people waiting on the other side of airport doors. Yet, neither of them moved.
“Well,” she said. “I guess you’ve got places to be.”
“So do you.” He added.
Still, they stood there. Still, they hesitated.
“Is this where we just… walk away?” he asked, almost to himself.
“Maybe we’re supposed to?,” she said, but the question in her voice betrayed her.
Colin reached into his pocket, pulled out his boarding pass and scribbled something on it with a pen. His handwriting looked rushed, uncertain. Like him.
“I don’t want it to be weird or anything,” he said, holding it out to her, “but if you wanted to… umm… here’s my number. Just in case.”
Penelope took the paper, her fingers brushing his. The contact was brief, but it lit something beneath her skin.
She looked at the little piece of paper, then back at him. “Thank you,” she said softly. “I think I’d like that. Just in case” her face glowed with hope, with possibilities.
Colin smiled… an honest, slightly lopsided smile that made her chest ache in a strange, sweet way.
“So,” he said, taking slow steps backwards, his dark blue eyes locked on her baby blues, “maybe I’ll hear from you.”
“Maybe,” she said smiling.
And just like that, it was time.
They turned in opposite directions, their steps reluctant, their hearts louder than the crowd around them. Neither of them looked back. But each carried something forward… something unexpected and fragile, still glowing from 30,000 feet.
Something that might just begin again.