Learning to Love You (Published on Galatea)

The sharp whirr of the engines thrummed beneath Ava’s fingers as she reran her checklist. The cockpit smelled of polished metal and recycled air, a scent she had long since come to associate with control. Around her, the instruments blinked steadily, indifferent to the storm of thoughts she kept locked behind her calm hazel eyes.

“First officer ready,” she confirmed. Her voice was unwavering, betraying none of the flutter beneath her ribs. Today’s flight wasn’t just another assignment. It was a test. Every flight was, but this one carried weight. Her senior captain had promised a recommendation for promotion soon. She had spent years chasing this moment, and she knew exactly how many flawless landings she had executed, how many logged hours she had accumulated. Everything she did was precise, measured, and purposeful. There was no room for mistakes. Not now.

The plane rolled forward, taxiing with practiced ease down the runway. Outside, the sprawling airbase blurred past—the hangars, the ground crew, the endless sky that promised freedom but demanded discipline. Ava’s gaze flicked briefly to the horizon, where a thick bank of clouds hovered like secrets waiting to be revealed.

“Winds are shifting,” she murmured, her hands resting lightly on the yoke.

Captain Marcus Roberts sat beside her, eyes fixed on the instruments. “We’ll manage.” His voice was even clipped. He was a man who wasted neither words nor expressions.

The engines roared louder, propelling them down the runway until the wheels left the ground. For a heartbeat, everything was smooth; the ascent was clean, and the instruments were steady. Ava settled into rhythm, adjusting the switches with fluid precision. Up here, she felt tethered to one thing that never betrayed her: the laws of flight.

Then the turbulence hit.

The aircraft jolted sideways, rattling violently as though an invisible hand had struck its frame. Passengers gasped in the cabin behind them. A low whine of stress filled the cockpit as the plane pitched again, the sky turning unpredictable.

“Seatbelt sign on,” Ava said quickly, her voice sharp. “Cabin crew, take your seats.”

The plane dipped, then rose too sharply. Ava gritted her teeth, fighting the instinct to overcorrect. The yoke vibrated beneath her hands, every muscle in her body tensed as she adjusted their pitch and speed.

Another hit, stronger this time, sent her stomach lurching. Her palms were damp, but her expression remained unreadable. She’d trained for this. She lived for moments like this to test whether her composure could stand against chaos.

Roberts’ hand hovered near his side controls but didn’t move. He was watching her, always watching.

“Hold her steady, Hayes,” he said. Calm. Too calm.

“I’ve got it.”

She scanned the gauges, mind racing. Altitude holding. Engines stable. It was the air itself that was unstable, the storm above the mountain pass tossing them without mercy. She eased their climb, angling to cut through the worst of it. Her pulse hammered, but her hands were firm.

The plane jolted hard enough to rattle the overhead compartments. A warning chime went off, sharp in her ears. Ava bit down the surge of adrenaline and kept her voice level as she adjusted. “Stabilizer’s compensating.”

For a moment, it felt like the storm would win—like the aircraft was a toy caught in a giant’s grip. She locked her jaw, refusing to let it show. Slowly, inch by inch, her adjustments brought the aircraft back to balance. The tremors softened. The nose leveled. The screaming of wind against the frame dulled into a stable hum.

Ava let out a slow breath. “Recovered.”

Roberts gave a small nod, though his fingers stayed clenched a moment longer on the side panel before he let go. “Not bad,” he said. His tone was approving, but the faintest curl of his lips made her wonder if he’d been assessing her nerves as much as her skill.

Ava forced herself not to react. She didn’t need his approval. She required his signature.

By the time they reached cruising altitude, the turbulence was a memory. Passengers settled, the cabin quieted, and the unchanging rhythm of flight returned. But the echo of Roberts’ lingering gaze remained.

Turbulence was easy. Predictable. You trained for it, anticipated it, corrected it.

It was everything outside the manuals that unsettled her—the creeping suspicion behind her captain’s silences, the whispers that followed him through the base, and the knowledge that her entire future could be decided by the man sitting in the seat beside her.

When they touched down, the landing was smooth—textbook perfect. The kind that left no room for criticism. Ava’s pulse remained even, her hands light on the controls. Once the engines powered down, the crew filtered out with their usual chatter.

She stayed behind to complete the logs, typing with quick efficiency. Captain Roberts’s signature—bold and angled—sat at the bottom of the approval form. One more flight under his command. One step closer. Yet unease prickled at the edge of her thoughts. If he fell, she would fall with him.

***~~

The air was warm with the buzz of casual conversations, the clinking of glasses, and a playlist that hovered just below obnoxious. The rec lounge was part bar, part diner, part neutral zone. Ava leaned against a high table, sipping a ginger ale, while Rina and Sam replayed the flight with animated gestures.

“I swear half the cabin thought we were going down,” Sam said, shaking his head. His sandy hair stuck up in tufts, like he’d been raking his hands through it all evening. “That turbulence hit like a freight train. You didn’t even flinch, Hayes.”

Ava arched a brow. “Would you rather I screamed over the intercom?”

Rina laughed, her curls bouncing as she leaned in. “She’s got a point. The way you handled it… calm, collected, like nothing could touch you. Even Roberts looked like he was gripping the panel harder than usual.”

Sam grinned. “I noticed that too. First time I’ve ever seen him white-knuckled. Meanwhile, Ava here is ice-cold in the cockpit. Guess we know who I want flying if things get messy.”

Ava gave a tight smile, but she didn’t bask in the praise. “It wasn’t ice-cold. Just training. You keep your head down, trust the instruments, and do the job. That’s all.”

“That’s all,” Rina repeated, rolling her eyes. “Listen to her, Sam—like she didn’t just save everyone’s stomachs and probably half their prayers.”

Sam chuckled. “No wonder Roberts is backing you for promotion. If you’re this good under pressure, it’s only a matter of time.”

Ava let the words pass without argument, though a quiet unease prickled at the back of her mind. Praise was fine, but promotion wasn’t about moments. It was about politics, signatures, and the man whose speechlessness during that storm still lingered in her thoughts.

She let the conversation wash over her, half-listening. The rec lounge felt distant, like a place she only visited with half her presence. Lately, everything felt like that — suspended in a moment she couldn’t quite hold. Her promotion felt both close and uncertain, like a door waiting to shut if she misstepped.

From a nearby table, someone whispered a little too loudly:

“—They say someone from the investigation unit was asking about him. You think it’s true?”

Ava’s body stilled before her face could react.

Rina looked over, then lowered her voice. “Don’t mind them. Rumors fly faster than our jets. Someone probably saw a guy in a suit and assumed it was an agent.”

Sam leaned in, casual but curious. “Still, if someone is sniffing around Roberts, that’s a career-ender. Even for you.”

Ava’s gaze dropped to her glass. Her voice came out balanced, but quiet. “I don’t deal in rumors. I deal in performance. And he’s the best we’ve got.”

There was a short silence. Rina changed the subject — something about base housing drama — and the moment passed. But Ava’s mind stayed locked on that overheard whisper.

Her thoughts drifted back to the captain’s silence during the flight. The way he’d lingered before signing the report. There had been something in his eyes.

The night wore on. Ava remained mostly quiet, letting her coworkers talk around her. They didn’t notice her distraction. They never did.

By the time she left the lounge, the night was cool and quiet. The hangars loomed in the distance, their shadows stretching long across the gravel. The gentian blue Porsche 911 gleamed under the lot’s yellow lights. Sliding into the driver’s seat, Ava wrapped her hands around the leather steering wheel and started the engine. The confident purr filled the air, grounding her in its familiar sound. She eased out of the lot and onto the open road, shifting gears smoothly, the car responding to her touch as though it knew her mood.

The city lights blurred past, her reflection flashing in the glass of storefronts and the glow of traffic signals. Driving home like this was her small ritual—windows cracked just enough to let the night air in. One hand resting firmly on the wheel, the other lightly drumming against the gearshift. It was the one part of her day when no one could question her, no one could control her.

Tonight, as the tires hummed against the asphalt, Ava allowed herself to breathe. For a few precious minutes. Just her, her car, and the freedom of the road stretching out before her. After a few minutes, she had reached her destination.

She thought of her adoptive father’s voice: Control what you can. Let the rest go.

But what if what you couldn’t control… took you down with it?

She tightened her grip on the wheel. She wasn’t afraid of falling. She was scared of falling because of someone else’s mistake.

She paused outside her place, fingers lingering on the keypad before she finally entered. Ava’s studio apartment was small but efficient. A single open space where everything had its place. The bed in the corner was neatly made in gray linens, a folded throw at the foot. A slim bookshelf doubled as both storage and display. Aviation manuals lined up beside a model aircraft and a framed photo of her and her adoptive father. By the window, her desk was spotless except for a stack of flight logs and a sketchbook with a pencil clipped to the cover. The kitchenette gleamed with stainless steel, a coffee machine taking pride of place. It was minimal, orderly—exactly how she liked it—yet softened by the faint scent of cedar and the warm light spilling in from the city beyond her window.

Ava sat on the edge of her bed, lacing and unlacing her fingers. She wanted to believe Roberts was untouchable. That if she stayed the course, everything she worked for would hold.

But there were too many variables now. Too many shadows outside her periphery. If something were coming for Captain Roberts, she couldn’t stop it.

But she could keep herself clean.

Just a little longer.