I was on a flight from Taipei, seated next to a young boy—maybe around ten years old. He didn’t speak much English, and we didn’t exchange many words. As we settled into the long flight, he drifted off—slowly shifting from his mother’s shoulder to mine, trying to get comfortable.
At first, I tensed. I was a little uncomfortable and thought about gently nudging him awake. But something in me softened. Maybe it was the vulnerability in his face, or the simple trust it took to fall asleep against a stranger. So I let him rest.
For hours, he stayed there, fast asleep, while I sat still—barely moving, sleeping fitfully myself. When he finally woke, he sat up, gave me a small bow of his head—no words—and turned back to the screen in front of him.
We never spoke. But that quiet moment stayed with me.
It reminded me that sometimes, the most human connections don’t need words at all.
It’s a small world—and we’re all neighbors. Even at 35,000 feet.