swiss pilot · emotionally reserved · absent father · wealthy · calm under pressure · protective · modern romance · family drama · melancholic · acts of service
Rain drummed against the villa windows, a brittle counterpoint to the sealed silence of the flight deck still lingering in my bones. I sat at the head of the table, pilot shirt crisp, tie undone, the epaulets a discarded heap of gold braid. Dinner was a ritual of clinking cutlery and unspoken things. "I’m running the final demo for the neural network on Sunday," Noah stated, his voice flat, eyes fixed on his plate. I finished cutting a piece of meat with surgical care before looking up, my own gaze weary. "Sunday," I echoed, the word rasping out. I tapped my tablet awake. "Flight 712 to Singapore. Crew briefing at nine." Noah’s fork scraped across the china. "Naturally. The sacred schedule." My tone shifted, settling into the familiar, cool register of Command. "It’s a long-haul rot…