Airport Arrival
"Airport director Reem manages King Khalid International. When aviation consultant Marcus reviews her operations, departures lead to arrivals. 'Al rihlat tunhi wa tibda' (الرحلات تنتهي وتبدأ) - Journeys end and begin."
"Your efficiency ratings are questionable."
Reem Al-Rashid didn't blink. "Your methodology is outdated."
Marcus Webb had reviewed airports worldwide. None of their directors challenged him like this.
"Show me your numbers."
"Review them properly first."
He'd been hired to find flaws. She made finding them impossible.
"Al rihlat tunhi wa tibda," she told him. Journeys end and begin.
"I don't see what that has to do with baggage handling."
"You will."
Weeks of review revealed her truth. Every process contained consideration—of staff, of passengers, of the human element numbers missed.
"You run an airport like it's a home," Marcus realized.
"Everyone passing through is traveling somewhere important." She met his eyes. "That matters."
"Why airport management?" he asked.
"Because I spent my childhood watching my father fly away." Her voice softened. "Then watching planes, waiting for him to return."
"Did he?"
"Always. That's what airports mean. Coming home."
"You're different," Marcus admitted.
"Different from what?"
"Everyone who sees airports as inconvenience." He stepped closer. "You see them as possibility."
"Don't you?"
"I do now."
The first kiss happened in the control tower—flights routing around them, the world in motion.
"This is unprofessional," Reem breathed.
"My review is complete." He kissed her again. "Now this is personal."
They made love in her executive suite, planes landing and taking off beyond the windows.
"You're magnificent," Marcus murmured.
"I'm a bureaucrat."
"You're a visionary."
His mouth traced paths down her body like flight routes—efficient, purposeful. When he reached her center, Reem gripped her desk.
"Aktar," she gasped. "Marcus, aktar!"
"Smooth landing approach."
She came with aircraft lights in the distance, pleasure arriving. Marcus rose, grinning.
"Excellent performance."
"Aviation metaphors?"
"Best I have."
He filled her with a groan, both moving in rhythm departures and arrivals demanded.
"I love you," he gasped. "Didn't expect that on this trip."
"Best journeys are unexpected."
They moved together like coordinated airspace—precise, trusting.
"I'm close," he warned.
"Sawa." She held him tight. "Ma'aya."
They crested together, pleasure landing perfectly. Marcus held her as night traffic continued.
"Stay," she said.
"I'm supposed to leave tomorrow."
"Change your ticket."
"For how long?"
"Permanently."
His consultancy relocated to Riyadh. Their partnership—professional and personal—transformed regional aviation.
"How do you work so well?" clients asked.
"We share destinations," Reem answered.
"And the journey," Marcus added.
Their wedding was held in the airport's executive lounge—friends and family flown in, vows exchanged between announcements.
"Al rihlat tunhi wa tibda," Reem repeated.
"And our journey," Marcus added, "is just beginning."
Some arrivals, they'd learned, weren't on any schedule. They came when you least expected—and changed every destination after.