He knew what it looked like: a Black teenage boy from economy approaching first class, offering advice to a wealthy white businessman. He knew how often helpfulness from people like him was mistaken for intrusion, threat, or insolence. Experience had taught him caution.
But Lily kept crying.
Eventually compassion outweighed self-protection.
Noah stood, walked forward, and was intercepted by a flight attendant near the dividing curtain.
“Can I help you?” she asked in the careful tone people use when they suspect they are about to need to say no.
“The baby,” Noah said. “I think I might be able to help.”
She glanced at him skeptically. “Are you traveling with family up here?”
“No, ma’am. But I’ve dealt with colic before. I know what that kind of crying sounds like.”
She looked toward first class, where Andrew was now standing in the aisle with a red-faced, screaming baby and the expression of a man at the edge of real panic.
Before she could respond, Andrew stepped closer. “Did someone say they know how to help?”
Noah took a breath.