To The Indian Girl At The Airport


I'm writing this from home, and it feels as if my heart is hanging out of my chest whilst carrying a bag of potatoes. There was a girl at the airport today – an indian girl getting the flight from Antalya and Birmingham after our holiday. For future reference, the flight was on the 12th of July 2010.

The reason my heart is so heavy is because I couldn't build up the courage to go and talk to her. She was the most beautiful girl I had ever seen, and probably the most beautiful girl I will see. The flight from Antalya was delayed by about an hour from 4:25AM to 5:40AM – everyone was tired anyway, so the extra hour caused most people to go to sleep in the flight's departure lounge. That's when I first saw her – sitting opposite me with her father and little brother, eyes red and bloodshot, but looking so beautiful it was unimaginable.

Most girls I look at will entail some sort of sexual nature in the thoughts process, and most of the time I end up deciding it'd be great to **** her, and fantastic if she gave me a blow-job. But with her, it didn't even go through my mind. Don't get me wrong, she was beautiful all over, and looking back while reading this I'm madly surprised that the usual thoughts didn't go through my mind! But there was something different with her – I was just stunned by how beautiful she was, and I just wanted to know more about her, to talk to her and get to know her. After seeing her eyes all red and bloodshot because she was so tired, all I wanted to do was go over and let her sleep on my shoulder. I wanted to take care of her and, whilst I'm aware this sounds like a 'Girl of My Dreams' movie, I wanted to love her.

She and her family (father, brother and a white mother) got on the plane well before my family, and even though I looked down the plane I couldn't see where she was sat. I kept hoping foolishly that some wild string of fate would bring us together, not realising my own stupidity and the fact that I'd actually have to make a ******* effort. After the flight, all I could think about was seeing her – and whilst walking towards Passport Control and the baggage carousels I kept looking back, hoping to see her face walking behind me. After endless worrying that I'd never see her again, she eventually came round the corner with her family towards the baggage carousels. Once again enchanted, I couldn't help but stare as she walked across the floor, and as she and her family walked Carousel 3, her mother and father got into position, whilst gesturing to her and her little brother to go and wait by the side of the room. That was my chance, my final chance, and some people would probably say the good thing to do would be to talk about it, and openly admit that I ****** it all up. I said to my mum that I was going to go and get a drink, and walked over to where she was standing to use the vending machine but metres from where she was sitting on her bag, her little brother beside her playing on a Nintendo DS. As I walked past her, I could've stood by and said hello, waved, smiled, anything! Instead, I walked past her and bought a drink, scared to look over at her in case she actually noticed me looking. My mind was a civil war as I walked back past her, fighting the ridiculous notion that I shouldn't say anything to her. I didn't. As I walked past, she stood up from her bag and wandered over to her parents who had their bags.

I saw her one more time during that day. She and her family were standing outside the airport, her father having a cigarette, before she led them into the car-park, where I lost her.

I don't know how I'd find her. I don't know how I will find her. All I know is that I have made such a cataclysmic mistake that I can't even smile. I'm temporally disconnected, I can't function, I can't think of anything else.


I can't believe I didn't talk to her.


To the Indian Girl at the airport,

I hope I find you. I have no idea where you live, I have no idea where you are, who you are, what you believe in, what you like and dislike, but I will never forget you. I will look for you – I just don't know where to start.

fuzzybandit fuzzybandit
18-21, M
1 Response Jul 12, 2010

I wish you had said something. Hugs, LW