Gate twenty-three at half past ten
A paper cup between your hands
The screen above us changed again
Nobody seemed in a hurry
You asked if that seat was taken
I moved my coat without a word
Your boarding pass stuck from your pocket
A corner folded twice
The paper cup between your hands
We talked about cities we'd never lived in
And restaurants we couldn't remember
Forty minutes felt surprisingly clear
Like we'd skipped the usual introductions
Some people stay for years
And never arrive this close
Some people share one waiting room
And leave a mark on the air
Between two flights, we belonged somewhere
The announcement interrupted a story
You laughed and started again
A suitcase rolled past our shoes
The paper cup had gone cold
Neither of us seemed to notice
Then your gate appeared on the screen
A simple line of changing text
Nothing happened all at once
The room just shifted quietly
Some people stay for years
And never arrive this close
Some people share one waiting room
And leave a mark on the air
Between two flights, we belonged somewhere
We stood when they called your row
No promises
No numbers written down
Your paper cup beside an empty seat
As the screen changed one last time