After battling through the Queens traffic that had nearly driven them to despair, their breathing slowly returned to a steady rhythm. However, JFK’s Terminal 4 that afternoon offered no respite. They immediately joined the long, snaking line toward security and immigration. The mixture of scents—duty-free perfumes blending with stale coffee and the sweat of thousands of restless travelers—made Risa feel genuinely dizzy.
Kala walked ahead, guiding Risa and Dea, who were already too tired to comment on the weekend airport chaos. They were sleep-deprived, utterly exhausted, and fighting off drowsiness. Kala checked his watch repeatedly, occasionally glancing back at his girlfriend and his sister. The line barely seemed to move, yet he’s expression remained composed. Risa and Dea clearly felt a sense of safety just being with him.
When they finally reached the immigration officer, the panic gave way to stiff formality. Risa felt a flicker of nervousness as she stood before the high counter, staring into the camera for the facial scan and handing over her passport, already filled with travel stamps. In a few years, she would hold a new passport—one with Kala’s last name at the end of it.
“Purpose of your visit?” asked the officer in the dark blue uniform, his face devoid of expression.
“Tourism,” Risa replied briefly, forcing a smile despite her exhaustion.
The officer gave a small nod, then stamped it with a loud thud before returning her passport. “Safe flight.”
After successfully clearing security, they were once again racing againt the clock when they saw the digital display board already flashing ‘Boarding’ in yellow next to flight number KL642. They had arrived at the airport right on time, but such dramas were a common occurrence when booking weekend flights. She glanced at Dea, who was yawning while walking briskly ahead of them, while Kala and Risa kept a watchful eye on her.
“Come on, almost there. Our gate is at the end of the corridor,” Kala said.
They walked quickly down the vast airport hall, passing rows of luxury storefronts that blurred in Risa’s vision due to her fatigue. The rhythmic rattle of their carry-on wheels against the JFK marble floor became the soundtrack of their hurried walk. Behind the large glass windows, the KLM Boeing 787-10 Dreamliner, with its iconic sky-blue livery, was already parked. It was ready to carry them to Schiphol Airport—a place that, to Risa, always felt cold no matter the season.
Kala draped an arm around Risa’s shoulders for a moment as they joined the queue for the jet bridge. “Tired?”
Risa looked up, meeting Kala’s face. He was beaming, despite looking just as weary as she felt. “A little.”
“Mbak! Mas! Come on, hurry up! I want to fall asleep the second I get a plane pillow!” Dea shouted from the front of the line, causing several other passengers to turn their heads.
Kala let out an exasperated sigh. “She truly has a talent for ruining the mood.”
Risa swatted his arm. “Don't say that. If she went missing for an hour, you’d be the one panicking the most.”
“That’s only because Mama and Papa would lecture me if she went missing,” Kala joked, then quickened his pace, nearly dragging his girlfriend along.
“Hey!” Risa protested. “You’re walking at a normal pace, but I’m basically running here!”
“Your fault—you’re too short,” he teased.
Risa laughed. “You should marry a man if you want someone who walks as fast as you do.”
“Well, I lost that debate,” Kala admitted, ending with a laugh.
***
Reaching the aircraft door felt like such a relief; there would be no more chasing—only the beckoning of sleep. A flight attendant in a sharp blue uniform greeted them with a friendly smile at the threshold of the cool cabin. The official shade, known as ‘KLM Blue’ or Sky Blue (Cyan/Azure), had been the airline’s identity for decades.
KLM flight attendants wore scarves in shades of blue and white, sometimes with a hint of orange—the Netherlands’ national color. The male flight attendants typically wore blue suits matching the women’s uniforms, paired with crisp white shirts and blue ties.
Risa had always admired that vibrant sky blue. She remembered Kala telling her once how much these elegant uniforms, designed by Mart Visser, meant to the cabin crew. For Risa, understanding small details like the orange motif on the stewardess’s scarf was her way of loving Kala’s world.
“Welcome on board,” the stewardess greeted them softly.
As they stepped into the cabin, the fresh, cool air helped Risa slowly forget the sweltering heat of New York. They walked down the aisle toward the row of seats Kala had booked well in advance. They sat in the same configuration as they had on the flight from Schiphol. Sitting for hours would be tiring, of course—but at least they could rest. This would be their sanctuary for the next seven hours as they crossed the Atlantic.
On the far left, Dea claimed the window seat. Even before takeoff, she was already busy on her phone, occasionally frowning as she sifted through the best photos from their visit to SUMMIT One Vanderbilt to upload to her social media. Her fingers danced across the screen, focused on writing a sentimental caption about how difficult it was to leave New York after a week-long vacation—even though she had been the one most eager to sleep just moments ago. Risa could only exchange an amused look with Kala at Dea’s antics.
“Everything set?” Kala asked as he helped Risa fasten her seatbelt, then made sure the bag of snacks was tucked safely under the seat.
Risa gave a small nod, then leaned back to rest. “Finally.”
“Who knows, maybe the person flying us to Amsterdam tonight is King Willem-Alexander himself,” Kala said, reaching for the Holland Herald magazine from the seat pocket.
“You said he usually takes short-haul routes so he doesn’t lose his flight hours. Why would King Willem bother flying all the way to JFK? I mean—it’s possible, but I imagine the palace staff would be in an uproar,” Risa replied with an amused smile, trying hard to imagine the Dutch leader as their pilot. “But have you ever flown with him, Mas?”
Kala looked up from the magazine to meet her gaze. “Of course not! My status is still ‘the new guy’; I still don’t have many stripes yet. But some of my seniors have—they said they usually can't sleep soundly when they know a guest pilot from the Royal House appears on the schedule.”
Risa giggled, feeling the same sense of panic. “I mean—it’s the King of the Netherlands.”
“I think I’d rather pretend to be sick if the co-pilot were King Willem,” Kala laughed.
“Willems should stick together,” Risa teased, remembering that Kala’s middle name was Willem.
Kala smirked, beginning to tinker with the entertainment screen in front of him. “The JFK to AMS flight tonight is going to feel shorter than when we left yesterday; maybe just a little over seven hours.”
Risa’s eyes widened. “Wait, how? Didn’t it take almost nine hours when we left?”
“We’ve got a pretty strong tailwind tonight.” Kala looked at Risa again. “The jet stream over the Atlantic is blowing in the same direction we’re heading—East. So, it’s like our plane is getting an extra push from behind.”
Dea put her phone on her lap and turned quickly to her brother. “Seriously? That means we’ll reach Amsterdam while it’s still really early in the morning, right, Mas?”
He gave a single nod. “Yes, around six in the morning Schiphol time. So, you two should probably just sleep once the cabin lights are dimmed after dinner. It’ll help with the jetlag when we land.”
The aircraft door finally closed with a firm click. Moments later, the Boeing 787 began its pushback. On the small screen in front of them, the flight map showed an arc stretching across the vast Atlantic Ocean. In truth, Risa didn’t want this vacation to end, because it meant she would be separated from Kala for—one, maybe even three months if there were no layovers or flights to Jakarta.