I was on a late-night flight, exhausted and impatient, counting the hours until we landed. The cabin was quiet, the lights were dim, and most passengers were already lost in movies, music, or sleep. Sitting beside me was a young woman who kept tapping what looked like a blank entertainment screen. She pressed it repeatedly, swiped across it, and tried again several times. After watching for a few minutes, I became convinced she simply didn’t know how to turn it on.

Trying to be helpful, I leaned over and confidently pressed a small button beneath the screen. Then I explained how the entertainment system worked. She smiled politely, thanked me, and put her headphones back on. Feeling strangely proud of myself, I settled into my seat and returned to my movie. I assumed I had solved a small problem and made her trip a little easier.

Hours passed. I watched a film, ate dinner, and dozed off. When I woke up, I noticed the woman still wasn’t watching anything. Instead, she sat quietly by the window, staring into the darkness outside. She didn’t seem frustrated or bored. She simply looked lost in thought. Something about that struck me as odd, and I found myself glancing toward her seat again.

Then, suddenly, I realized something that made my stomach sink. The screen she had been touching was never her screen at all. It was the back of my own seat. Every confident word I had spoken instantly came rushing back to me. And in one painful moment, I understood just how wrong I had been.