Chapter 10: Departure

The announcement echoed again, final and absolute.

"All passengers for Flight 604..."

It was time.

Vinod stood up immediately. I stood up too—not to board, as my own journey was taking me elsewhere—but to see him off. It’s funny how quickly a connection forms. Two hours ago, Vinod was just a suit in the next seat. Now, watching him pack his laptop, I felt the pang of saying goodbye to a friend.

Vinod zipped up his leather bag. He checked his pockets—phone, wallet, boarding pass. And then he checked his shirt pocket. He tapped it twice, confirming the small card was still there.

He turned to me. The anxious, bouncing knee from Chapter One was gone. The frantic worry about past lives and heavy luggage was gone. He stood taller. His shoulders were set. He looked like a man who was ready to carry his bags, no matter how heavy they were.

"I don't know how to thank you," he said. "I sat down here looking for a distraction. I think I found... well, everything."

"You found what was already yours," I said, slinging my bag over my shoulder. "I just helped you find where you packed it."

He extended his hand. This time, the handshake wasn't a formality. It was firm. Warm. A seal on a contract made of faith.

"My son won't believe this," Vinod smiled, a genuine crinkle appearing around his eyes. "He’s going to be jealous I got a private lecture."

I reached into my bag and pulled out a small, thin book. Civilization and Transcendence.

"Give him this," I said, handing it to him. "Tell him the Author says hello. And tell him... tell him his father is asking good questions."

Vinod took the book with both hands, treating it like it was made of glass. He nodded, his throat working as he swallowed back emotion.

"I will," he whispered. "I will."

The queue at the gate was moving. The final call was flashing on the screen.

"Go," I said. "You don't want to miss your flight."

"No," he agreed. "I don't."

We walked together out of the food court and back toward Gate 4.

He turned and walked toward the gate agent. He merged into the line of passengers—tired businessmen, excited tourists, crying babies. He looked like everyone else. But he wasn't.

Halfway down the jet bridge, just before disappearing into the metal tube, he stopped. He turned around. He found me in the crowd and raised his hand in a wave.

I waved back.

Then he turned the corner and was gone.

I stood there for a moment, watching the empty space where he had been.

We are all just passing through. This airport. This city. This body. It’s all just a transit lounge. We sit for a while, we share our stories, we worry about our luggage, and then the announcement comes. The Great Departure.

Most people board that final flight kicking and screaming, terrified of where it goes. They don't know the Pilot. They don't know the Destination.

But Vinod?

Vinod had the map now. He knew the song.

I picked up my bag and walked toward the window to watch the planes rise.

The sun had set, but the stars were out. And they were singing.

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END OF BOOK

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