Airports have a strange rhythm of their own. They are places where thousands of individual stories pass one another without ever touching, where people rush toward beginnings, endings, reunions, and departures.

For hours, I had been sitting inside Terminal B, surrounded by the constant hum of rolling suitcases, muffled announcements, impatient sighs, and the occasional burst of laughter from a group of excited travelers. My flight was delayed — again — and the minutes were stretching into what felt like an entire lifetime.

I leaned back in my chair, nursing what was left of my third cup of coffee. I wasn’t in a hurry. I wasn’t excited. I was simply tired — tired in a way that goes deeper than…CONTINUE READING…