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Tomorrow, My Morning Coffee Will Taste Different

It’s been three weeks since we moved to Vadodara. Every morning since, I’ve unknowingly built a quiet ritual—coffee in hand, eyes on the sky, watching planes take off from Vadodara Airport, which I can see clearly from our balcony. There's something calming about it. Hopeful, even. A small moment of stillness as the world begins to move.

But today… today was not like the other days.

Around noon, news broke about the Air India crash at Sardar Vallabhbhai Patel Airport, Ahmedabad. And everything I felt in those quiet, breezy mornings shattered into something heavier, more fragile. It’s strange how suddenly a routine can take on new meaning and how quickly something comforting can start to feel ominous.

My husband used to be a frequent flyer to Ahmedabad in the months before we settled down here. I was right there at that same airport with my dad and daughter, barely three weeks ago. I still remember my first visit to Ahmedabad and I wasn’t particularly excited. It felt temporary. But the second time, I arrived with dreams. With hope. With plans to call this place home.

And now, hearing about the crash, I can’t stop thinking—what if?

It’s terrifying how close tragedy can come to our stories without touching them. But it leaves fingerprints anyway. On our thoughts, on our routines, on our mornings.

Tomorrow, when I stand on my balcony with my coffee, I know it won’t be the same. I’ll still see the runway. I’ll still see planes take off. But I’ll also see the people behind those flights—their journeys, their families, their fragile trust in the sky.

The tragedy today wasn’t just about a plane. It was about dreams cut short, plans never lived, homes left waiting.

My heart goes out to the families. And as the engines roar tomorrow morning, I’ll hold my breath a little longer. I’ll sip my coffee a little slower. And I’ll be grateful for every ordinary day that still lets me watch the sky.

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Location: Vadodara, Gujarat, India

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