Chapter 1: Busted at Security—Twice

Airport security lines are supposed to be boring. But today? The universe has other plans for me. My not-so-innocent secret is about to make a grand entrance—right in front of everyone.

Bzzz—my cheeks blaze, ears on fire. There’s no mistaking that buzz, the one that makes every inch of my skin prickle with dread. Suddenly, it feels like every eye in the terminal is drilling into me. My brain short-circuits: This cannot be happening. Oh god, why me?

The TSA agent doesn’t so much as blink. He’s got that deadpan, I’ve-seen-it-all stare, the kind that says he’s unfazed by anything. Just my luck. Of course, he won’t crack a smile. That’d be too easy.

"Lock it up next time."

His words hit like a verdict. I nod so hard my hair nearly falls out, cheeks burning hotter by the second, wishing I could vanish into my sneakers. Just… disappear. God, kill me now.

The judgment lingers, thick as that sludge they call airport coffee. I slink away, but I swear I can feel the weight of their stares clinging to my back.

Back home—time skips like a scratched record—I’m sprawled on my bed, heat radiating from my waist where the memory of that moment burns. The sheets tangle around me, and my mind replays the scene on a loop, like some cursed late-night sitcom rerun. I want to snort-laugh, but I’m this close to bawling instead. I can’t even decide which would be less pathetic.

He’s still stone-faced. That unreadable look is burned into my brain, haunting me every time I close my eyes. Will he ever forget my face? Or—worse—my little pink pouch?

"Am I not enough for you?" The words echo in my head, part accusation, part self-mockery. Did I just imagine that? Or am I losing it? I groan into my pillow, wishing the mattress would just open up and swallow me whole. If only.

Monday morning, and I’m back at the security checkpoint. My nerves are shot—thanks, 5 a.m. alarm—and now I’m stuck under these fluorescent lights, feeling like a bug under a microscope. Why do I do this to myself?

"Ma’am, there’s a U-shaped item in your bag. Can you step aside for a quick check?"

I nod, dazed, like I’ve just been bonked on the head. My brain’s ping-ponging through every possible thing I could’ve packed. Socks? Charger? What the hell is U-shaped in my bag?

"Okay—U-shaped? What U-shaped thing?" My brain is buffering. Seriously, what did I bring?

I stare, frozen, as the TSA agent lifts out…

A small, soft, pink drawstring pouch. It’s so cutesy and out of place, it might as well have a spotlight on it. My heart goes full jackhammer, and my palms go slick with sweat.

Bzzz—

The tiniest vibration hums out, but in the dead silence of security, it might as well be an airhorn. I want to melt through the floor.

His hand freezes. For a split second, I’m sure he’s going to fling it like it’s radioactive. My stomach does a nosedive.

I go cold all over. Not just pale—my knees threaten to buckle. I’m about to faint, right here, right now. Please, no.

It’s over! This is it! The “wellness buddy” my product manager bestie bullied me into testing—she made me promise a deep-dive review! Why did I ever agree? I should’ve known this was a setup for total humiliation. Classic me.

The whole world goes silent. It’s just me and that awful buzzing, echoing around my skull. I’m trapped in a living nightmare, and there’s no escape hatch.

"Huh? What’s going on?" The agent’s voice sounds muffled, like he’s talking through a fish tank. I can’t even look at him, I’m so mortified.

Please, just stop. Please. I’m begging—someone, anyone, just make it end! I’d take a meteor strike right about now. Or a black hole. Either works.

"Officer Bennett—"

Just as I’m about to lunge for the pouch and stomp it into oblivion, a tall guy walks over. He moves with this effortless confidence that makes everyone else straighten up, like he’s the final boss of airport security.

He takes the still-buzzing pouch from the agent, gives it a casual squeeze. His grip is steady, totally unbothered, like this is just another Tuesday for him. Meanwhile, I’m dying.

World peace. The buzzing finally stops, and for a split second, I think maybe—just maybe—I’ll survive this.

Except, the pouch is still trembling in his palm, like it’s out to ruin me to the bitter end. I swear, this thing’s got it in for me.

Officer Bennett tilts his head, glances at the screen, then pops open the pouch and gives it a quick once-over. His eyes are sharp but not mean. Weirdly reassuring.

"Long press to power off?"

"Uh, ah, yes, yes…" My voice cracks like a kid’s. I want to crawl under the conveyor belt and stay there forever.

His fingers move with this calm, practiced care—like he’s defusing a bomb, but he’s not sweating it. It’s almost… gentle?

He finds the tiny bump and presses down, thumb steady. Three seconds. Four. I hold my breath, counting with him.

I feel like I’m being X-rayed from the inside out. My pulse is so loud I’m sure the whole terminal can hear it. Thump-thump-thump.

Once he’s sure it’s finally “at rest,” Officer Bennett lowers his eyes, inspecting every seam and stitch. He’s all business, which somehow makes my embarrassment even worse.

A second later, he tucks it back in the pouch, cinches the drawstring. The move is almost… tender? Like he’s keeping my secret for me.

He glances up at my face, and for a heartbeat, I swear there’s a flicker of a smile—or maybe it’s pity. Or both.

"Lock it up next time."

His tone is dry, but not harsh. I nod, mortified, and make my escape, clutching my bag like it’s a life preserver.