I tried everything — deep breaths, noise-canceling headphones, closing my eyes and pretending I was somewhere else. But every time I started to drift, another kick yanked me back into reality.

Finally, I turned again — less polite this time.
“Ma’am, please. I really need to rest. Could you ask him to stop?”

She tried. She really did. But the boy was in his own world, too caught up in his excitement to care about mine. The flight attendant even stopped by, offering a gentle reminder that other passengers were trying to sleep.

Nothing worked. The kicks continued.

I could feel my temper rising — not in a dramatic, angry way, but in the quiet, burning frustration that builds when you feel powerless and unseen.

That’s when I decided I wasn’t going to get angry. I was going to do something different.