Throughout the flight, Rakesh used the call button like a toy.
Water. Napkin. Pillow. Each time, he had a comment ready.
“You’re wasted in this job,” he said with a wink. “Come with me. I’ll give you a better life.”
His tone was mocking, possessive. He wasn’t flirting — he was claiming.
And every time Ananya responded with grace and silence, he saw it as permission to keep going. He thought he was in control.
But Ananya’s silence was not surrender. Behind her practiced smile was a line being drawn — slowly, quietly, firmly.
Mid-flight, while she was serving drinks, Rakesh abruptly stood up. He “accidentally” bumped into her, knocking a cup of orange juice onto her uniform.
“Oh no! My bad,” he said, smirking. “Here, let me help,” as he reached toward her with mock concern.
His friends howled with laughter from their seats nearby.
This time, Ananya didn’t step back.
She raised her hand, blocking his touch. Her voice was calm, but unshakable:
“Sir, please behave appropriately. If you continue, I will have to report this to the captain.”
The laughter stopped.
Rakesh blinked. No one had spoken to him like that in years. But pride — the very thing that built his reputation — wouldn’t let him back down.
“You threatening me?” he snapped. “Do you even know who I am? I could end your career in minutes.”
But Ananya didn’t answer. She turned and walked back to the galley, calm as ever.
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