Fire in Your Hands

"You seriously bailed on your own engagement party?" The voice on the other end, dripping with shock, unmistakably belonged to her ever-dramatic best friend. Elysia sighed, her heart racing as she cradled the phone. "It's not 'bailing' if I never said 'yes' in the first place. Let's just call it a...strategic retreat." The whole ordeal was like a twisted fairy tale. How on earth did her doting big brother turn overnight into a relic from the past, arranging an engagement she hadn't even heard of? Without giving it a second thought, she'd hopped on the first flight out, her heart swearing off her brother. "Just between us," her friend began with a teasing lilt, "how bad is this guy to send you running?" Elysia let out an exaggerated sigh, "The worst! Can you believe he has the most unattractive hands?" Growing up with a passion for drawing and a keen eye for beauty, Elysia had an unusual dealbreaker: her man must possess hands that were both elegant and alluring. Her friend laughed, a mix of disbelief and genuine concern. "Did you really run away over that? Oh dear, only you would have such artistic whims." Elysia huffed, a playful pout in her voice. "Men go crazy over curves and beauty all the time, so why can't I have my own criteria? I have the soul of an artist, you know. For me, it's not just about how those hands look, it's how they make me feel." "Okay, Ms. Romantic," her friend giggled, then turned serious, "But, sweetie, with everything going on out there, especially with the pandemic, are you even safe?" Those words jolted Elysia, making her glance around, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings. She was currently in the bustling airport of a major Eurasian city, waiting for her connecting flight. Even though the latest news painted this place as chaotic, everything seemed peaceful to her. The terminal was buzzing with travelers, and the bright lights of duty-free shops beckoned shoppers. Caught up in her observations, she noticed a sweet little girl with sparkling blue eyes giggling at her from across the terminal. The innocent smile made everything seem right in the world. "Can't be that bad here," she mused, stretching lazily and winking playfully at the toddler. This was her first solo adventure, and understandably, her best friend was a bundle of nerves. In the past, their travels were all first class – with private jets, chauffeurs, and bodyguards ensuring they were in their own protective bubble. Now, on her own, she felt a refreshing sense of freedom. Her friend's voice buzzed in her ear, an endless stream of safety tips and reminders. Elysia, only half-listening, pulled out her pencil and started to doodle in her sketchbook, drawing a delicate hand with defined features. Her friend's voice continued, but Elysia's attention was on perfecting the shade of the wrist. Finally, with a playful sigh, she said, "Oh, come on! You worry too much! It's not like I'll step out and suddenly there's a robbery or something..." Her words hung in the air, only to be interrupted by the startling echo of a gunshot. In the shock of the moment, Elysia's phone slipped from her grasp, crashing onto the floor. Her ears buzzed, making her best friend's frantic voice on the other end inaudible. When the fog of disbelief lifted, she witnessed chaos everywhere: passengers scrambling in every direction, their voices a cacophony of fear and confusion. Such scenes were things she'd only glimpsed in dramatic news segments. Feeling lost and overwhelmed, she remained anchored to her seat. That was until a familiar cry pierced through the bedlam. The same blue-eyed toddler she had shared a moment with earlier was now on the ground, tears streaming down her face. The child appeared to be alone, probably separated from her guardians in the frenzied commotion. But what chilled Elysia to the bone was the sight of a menacing man, armed and unhinged, standing just beyond the child. Their eyes met—Elysia's and the little girl's. Drawn by those wide, fearful blue orbs, she acted on instinct, rushing to pull the child close. But in her panic, she underestimated her own state of shock. When she tried to lift the girl and make a run for it, her legs betrayed her, refusing to hold her up. Her brave act hadn't gone unnoticed. The attacker's sharp gaze landed on her, and with deliberate steps, he began to close the gap. Everyone else had fled, leaving an oppressive silence in their wake. The world around her seemed to stand still. Shielding the trembling child with her body, Elysia could only watch as the looming figure approached, his intent unmistakable. The little girl clung to her, her cries silenced by sheer terror. Elysia's own breathing grew shallow, her heart thundering. Before she knew it, the cold, unyielding muzzle of a g*n pressed against her temple. In that heart-stopping moment, memories from her past danced before her eyes. It wasn't her first dance with danger. As a child, she'd faced similar threats. But back then she was protected by someone else. And this time, it seemed she was all alone. Tears welled up in Elysia's eyes as a sense of hopelessness settled in. Barely out of her twenties, fresh from art school and just starting her journey as an artist, she had so much ahead of her. Overwhelmed by a mix of fear and sadness, her knees buckled, sending her crashing to the ground. Her world began to blur and spin. But in that hazy state, instead of the anticipated gunshot, a shadow darted in, sweeping the attacker off his feet with swift grace. The very g*n that had once threatened her life was now in the hands of her unexpected hero. With elegance, he dismantled it, scattering its pieces afar. Seeing the threat was neutralized, bystanders rallied, rushing forward to help. Soon, airport security arrived, followed closely by police and the eager media. The attacker was swiftly carted away, leaving behind a sea of shaken souls sharing their harrowing tales. Amidst the chaos, well-meaning strangers helped Elysia back to her seat. But when she looked for her mysterious savior, he was gone, vanished into thin air. Around her, she heard praises for her bravery and thanks from the little girl's family. Yet, not a single word was uttered about the stranger. Yes, Elysia was beautiful - a radiant presence in any setting. Some even suggested, half-jokingly, that her beauty must have made the gunman hesitate. They said she was born under a lucky star. But Elysia knew her luck wasn't about her looks. The following hours felt like a dream. Images from the incident kept replaying in her mind. Still in a daze, she found herself on her plane bound for London. Yet, the exhilarating emotions of the day had changed everything for her. The dimly lit cabin of the overnight flight felt stifling, with intermingling breaths making it seem even more cramped. As she embarked on this impromptu journey, Elysia, in a burst of stubbornness, hadn’t used her brother’s credit card. Instead, she'd dug into her own savings for an economy ticket. But reality bit hard. The seat was more cramped than she anticipated, her knees jammed and her back aching. The aroma of the airline food was anything but appetizing. Even though her stomach grumbled in protest, she passed on the meal. Giving the orange juice a try, she was instantly repulsed by its overly artificial taste. Thousands of meters in the air, surrounded by strangers, Elysia felt a pang of self-pity. Holding the mediocre orange juice, she couldn’t hold back her tears. The lady next to her, sensing her distress, handed over a tissue and inquired in slightly broken English why she was traveling alone. Looking much younger than her age, with her round face and simply styled hair, Elysia often seemed like a teen, especially without makeup. Raised in the loving cocoon of her family, she felt out of her depth now. How had she, still so young at heart, been coerced into marriage by her overprotective brother? Why was her first solo adventure starting with awful juice and a near-death experience? Elysia realized that this wasn't the whimsical journey she had dreamed of. The urge to be home swelled inside her. But how could she turn back now? As waves of belated fear and heartache hit her, tears flowed freely. Flustered, she took out her sketchbook and pencil, hoping to find solace in her drawing. Her tears splattered on the paper, each drop absorbed immediately. Though her sketchbook bore signs of wear, a previously drawn hand stood out vividly. Illuminated by the soft cabin light, it seemed so real, almost warm to touch. She thought back to the airport chaos and the hands that had saved her life. She had tried to find out who the mystery man was, but to no avail. Everything had happened in a blur. All that remained in her memory were those hands. Elegant hands with pronounced veins, disappearing into a black sleeve. Under the metallic sheen of a g*n, the skin had looked so pale, the knuckles tinged pink. She even remembered a tiny mole on the inside of his right ring finger. It added a touch of charm to those powerful yet graceful hands. Such... distractingly handsome hands. Lost in thought, she doodled on her sketch, adding the mole she remembered so vividly. Once the plane landed, she eagerly checked her phone for news about the airport incident. To her surprise, the media gave all the credit to airport security and police. No mention of her mysterious savior. She began to wonder if those hands, so enchantingly perfect, were just a product of her heightened emotions. Frustrated by her futile online search, she decided to let it go. Perhaps it was just a dream, an illusion. After all, the world is vast, and not every encounter leads to a story. Feeling drained, she reached the airport exit and dialed her friend, who was supposed to pick her up. No answer. "Of course," she sighed, hoping to find a nearby bench. But dizziness hit her, and her vision blurred. Just as she felt herself tipping, a familiar hand caught her. Blinking in surprise, she recognized that beautiful hand, complete with its little mole. Was this another dream? The world was so vast, but maybe, just maybe, some paths were meant to cross again.