After a brutal workweek filled with back-to-back meetings, looming deadlines, and little sleep, I finally boarded my flight. All I wanted was a few hours of quiet—a chance to tune out the world, watch a movie, maybe catch a nap. I’d been looking forward to this moment for days. The promise of escape, even if just for a couple of hours, was enough to keep me going.
But as soon as I settled into my window seat, peace became the first casualty of the journey.
The plane began to taxi. Passengers were stowing bags and settling in. The hum of the engines and the rustling of snack bags filled the cabin.
The young woman in the seat directly in front of me—probably early twenties, judging by the endless scrolling on her phone and the earbuds dangling from her neck—flopped into her seat with a sigh. She was casual, relaxed, like this was just another part of her day.
And then it happened.
Without a second thought, she pulled her waist-length hair out from its loose ponytail and flung it straight over the back of her seat.
And it landed—right on my tray table.
Directly across my in-flight entertainment screen.
I froze for a moment, stunned by the audacity. Her hair, thick and dark, was sprawled across my space like it belonged there.
I took a breath, reminding myself not to overreact. No drama. Just a simple request.
I tapped her shoulder gently.
“Excuse me, could you please move your hair? It’s on my tray table.”
She turned her head, glanced back with a lazy, half-hearted “sorry,” and brushed the hair away.
Problem solved, I thought.
But oh no, the story was just beginning.
Ten minutes later, I was watching the opening credits of a movie when I noticed something tickling the back of my neck.
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