If you had seen it in a movie, you would've said it was cliche. Be that as it may, this story is 100% true.
Nevertheless, as I moved to the back of the plane, mentally counting the rows ahead, it appeared a young woman was sitting in my seat. I arrived at Row 30 and curled up in the window seat, dressed all black with a colorful babushka wrapped around her neck was "Ivana" (names are being changed).
"Excuse me, I think you're in my seat?"
Her voice was soft, hesitant, as if English was her second language.
"No. I am sorry?" She looked up at me with her ticket. "Window?"
I looked at her ticket. 30D. The aisle seat. "I'm sorry. That's 30D, the aisle?" I pointed to her armrest. "See the number there? 30 F." I smiled at her, but she started to shift her eyes around, getting upset. "Uh, would you like to stay there? I actually prefer the aisle seat."
At once she settled, the signs of worry immediately vanishing as a smile that radiated a thousand things at once appeared under her small, button nose.
TO BE CONTINUED WITH THE ARRIVAL OF THE GIRL FROM HOLLAND! (and yes, that IS a picture of Ivana)