On my 12-hour early-morning flight, I had paid extra for a spacious seat, hoping for a little comfort on a long journey. But when I reached my row, a young boy sat there, happily scrolling his phone while his mother looked on. I double-checked my ticket — there was no mistake. That seat was mine.

I gently mentioned the mix-up, expecting the mom to guide her son to their assigned seats. Instead, she smiled and asked if I would switch — to a middle seat in the back. “He needs the legroom,” she added, nodding toward her son like I should instantly understand. The boy didn’t look uncomfortable; he just looked very relaxed.

I paused. It was tempting to give in and avoid awkwardness, but I remembered how long I worked to afford that bit of comfort. So, kindly but firmly, I said I would be happy to switch only if the new seat had equal space. A flight attendant overheard, checked the tickets, and politely asked the boy and his mother to move to their original seats. The mom sighed, but they complied.

Hours later, as the cabin lights dimmed and most passengers slept, the same mom walked past and softly said, “Not everyone would have handled that so calmly.” I smiled and replied, “We’re all just trying to get where we’re going — comfortably and kindly.” She nodded, and surprisingly, smiled back.

Flying teaches us many things. That morning, I learned that standing up for yourself doesn’t require standing against someone else — just standing steady in your truth.