On his first day on the job, Su Nian hit the cockpit door.
"Get out," he said. "Re-enter."
She didn't know at that time that this man would always have a stack of origami paper in his flight case, he would fall asleep by ATC recordings every night, and he would never let anyone get close to him after he lost his co-pilot five years ago.
On the twenty-first day, she knocked over her water glass and the passengers scolded her for being unprofessional.
He walked out of the cockpit, settled the dispute in front of everyone, and then silently handed over an origami frog.
That night she drew a dark cloud on the back of the frog and stuffed it into his flight manual.
"Like his brows." She wrote secretly.
He looked at it for three days without throwing it away.
Later, on a thunderstorm night, there was severe turbulence. In the cockpit, his hands were shaking so much that he couldn't hold the control stick.
Su Nian squatted beside his seat and held the hand with clear joints.
"Don't be afraid, I'm here."
He shook it back. Thousands of meters above the ground, there was thunder and lightning outside the window, and there were only two people breathing in the cabin.
On the last page of the flight log, he wrote:
"The clouds flew over her today."
He is her parachute and she is his sunny day.
Purpose: I like tender and delicate, touching and non-bloody emotional descriptions