Dr. Carter rushed to the airport counter, relief flooding her as she saw only a short line.

She was racing against time, needing to board a flight for a critical medical case. Her hands trembled as she fumbled with her purse, spilling its contents on the floor. As she knelt to retrieve them, a couple stepped up beside her.

“Two tickets to Santa Monica,” said Michael urgently.

The airline agent, Luke, glanced at Dr. Carter before responding, “Only two seats left.”

Dr. Carter stood quickly, clutching her belongings. “Please, I need to get on that flight—it’s a medical emergency. I’m a doctor.”

Michael didn’t even turn. “We were here first. They’re ours,” he said, presenting his card.

Dana, his girlfriend, looked torn. “Maybe we should let her—”

“No,” Michael cut in. “We made plans.”

Dr. Carter’s voice cracked. “Someone’s life depends on this.”

Michael turned coldly. “Everyone’s got problems.” Then to Luke: “Book them.”

Luke did. Michael took the boarding passes with a smug smile. Dana offered the doctor a sympathetic look. Dr. Carter whispered a quiet “thank you,” then asked Luke, “Is there another flight?”

“One seat just got taken. I can put you on standby,” he replied.

As Michael and Dana walked toward their gate, she whispered, “You didn’t have to be so cruel.”

Michael shrugged. “Can’t save everyone.”

“You only ever think about yourself.”

At the gate, Michael bumped into a couple and barked, “Watch it!” Dana looked away, her disappointment deepening.

Once on board, a light flickered overhead. Dana leaned close. “Did you hear that?”

“It’s nothing,” Michael muttered.

“We’re in row 13. What if this is karma?”

Michael scoffed, “Seriously?”

Suddenly, turbulence shook the cabin violently. A suitcase flew open, nearly hitting Michael. He laughed. “That was close.”

Dana stared. “You’re laughing?”

The captain instructed everyone to buckle up.

Soon, things calmed, and Michael flagged a flight attendant. “Almost crushed by luggage—how about a drink?”

They received martinis. Michael toasted, “To surviving,” then downed his and reached for Dana’s untouched glass. Almost instantly, he began coughing violently—an olive lodged in his throat.

Dana sprang into action, performed the Heimlich, and the olive flew out.

“Careful,” she scolded.

“I’m fine,” he wheezed. “Takes more than that to kill me.”

A strange smell filled the cabin. “Michael, something’s burning.”

“It’s fine,” he said again.

But smoke curled from a nearby panel. A flight attendant rushed to put out a small fire. Dana grabbed Michael’s arm. “Help her!”

Reluctantly, he jumped in. They put out the fire. Passengers clapped.

“Crisis averted,” Michael grinned.

“Did you help because it mattered or to impress people?” Dana asked quietly.

Later, she hesitated before saying, “I got a job offer. Out of town.”

Michael froze. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I wasn’t sure how. But after today… I think we’re not going the same way.”