I waited in the jet lounge but he never landed

I arrived early, just as he asked. Black dress. Hair straight. No perfume as he didn’t like distractions, only presence. The message had been short and unusually precise: “Meet me airside. 6:40 p.m. I want to see your eyes before I see anything else.” The kind of line you read twice and remember the tone, not just the words.

He’d paid in full the night before in crypto, no questions, no back and forth. I didn’t need to confirm. He was always that kind of man: detail obsessed, punctual, unreadable. The kind that didn’t leave room for confusion, only interpretation.

The Dubai VIP terminal was nearly empty when I stepped in. There’s something about those rooms that feels more sacred than luxurious. Quiet in a way that’s rehearsed, like the silence knows it’s expensive. I took a seat near the window, crossed my legs, and waited.

At 6:40, I looked up expecting to meet his eyes. But the tarmac remained still. His jet ID wasn’t on the board. The receptionist glanced at me with polite hesitation. I gave nothing away. I never do.

By 7:10, I was still there. No calls, no cancellation, no presence. But he had paid and that meant something. Not just because the money cleared it always does but because the gesture was deliberate. Intentional silence is louder than apologies.

I didn’t message him. I didn’t ask why. That’s not how men like him operate, and that’s not what I’m here for. But four days later, another payment arrived. Same crypto wallet. No message. Just a date. A location. And a little more than the first time.

Maybe he was delayed. Maybe he needed to know if I’d wait. Maybe the flight was never the point.

I waited. And yes I'd do it again.