A/N: Welcome to my Christmas fic. It will be about 2 or 3 chapters. Sorry it is a bit late but it is still technically Christmas until January 5th. The starting premise for this story has been my brainchild since 2012. It just never came together until now. The story is loosely based on batzmary's I'm holding on for you. Her writing is absolutely amazing and I encourage you to check it out. So I'm back. Who missed me? … No one.

And Happy New Year to all! I hope 2014 is going to be awesome for all of you.

From Oxford Dictionary:

Definition of serendipity in English:
serendipity
Syllabification: ser·en·dip·i·ty
Pronunciation: /ˌserənˈdipitē /
NOUN
the occurrence and development of events by chance in a happy or beneficial way:
'a fortunate stroke of serendipity'
'a series of small serendipities'

Inspired by I'm holding on for you by batzmary

A Fortunate Stroke of Serendipity

Chapter 1: Pteromerhanophobia

"Are you serious?"

"Come on. Let's go," he motioned.

"I'm not getting on that thing."

"Oh come on. Don't be a baby."

"A baby?" I scoffed, "Excuse me."

"You're going to make us late."

"Late for what?"

"Nothing."

"Where are you taking me?" I narrow my eyes at him.

"It's a surprise. So get on," he paused before that trademark smirk appeared on his lips, "Motorcyles don't bite, sweetheart. I promise. Wear my helmet." He grabs his helmet from behind him and holds it out for me.

"Well, what about you?"

"I'll be fine. I'll get a new one on my way back home."

"Ohhkayy," I say hesitantly.

Yup. That was me. I dated the bad boy in high school and up to my second year of college. And yes, I actually did get on that motorcycle. And looking back, I'm glad I did. Even though he was a quote unquote "bad boy," he was a big softy underneath his rebellious, hard façade. He was the poster boy for the perfect boyfriend. Well, until we broke up. But I'll get to that later.

Because well…It was a bad breakup to be honest. It was messy. And annoying. And petty. And really just stupid. Looking back, we seemed so foolish. So childish. I don't get it. But he was absolutely positively my first love. My first legitimate relationship. Dammit. I'm getting really nostalgic right now. Dammit, Gabriella. Out of all the guys in school, why did you have to choose him? Why him? You could have just chosen that nerdy kid who kept making googly eyes at you in Chemistry lab. Okay. No. He was super creepy. Never mind.

Troy was…I don't know. Something else. He gave me a thrill. He kept my high school life exciting and blissful. He never held me back. He only made me better. He encouraged me and respected me. I thought, I mean, really thought he was perfect.

But of course, trouble in paradise had to occur sooner or later.

Let's flash-forward to right now.

I live in New York. I am single. Naturally. I haven't dated in a while. I am 27 and pretty much a workaholic. And I'm being completely frank with you. I am not trying to fabricate some sob story so that you will just pity me.

Still, I am afraid of ending up alone.

I know the old maxim that says, "No one can love you if you don't first love yourself," or something like that. And I do. Love myself, I mean. In the simple sense. But somehow, I feel disappointed in myself. Little idiosyncrasies that just make me go, "Dammit, Gabriella. Don't do that. Don't think like that."

I am just bombarded with negativity along with short bursts of positivity. Does that make sense?

I don't know. All I know is that life goes on. It waits for no one. Once you are born, you start to—what? Die. That's right. We age by the minute. By the second, millisecond.

Now, I am a doctor—a dermatologist to be specific. I take care of people's skin for a living and get paid for it. I work at the local hospital in my town. Each day is filled with stacks of papers with more and more charts to review. Don't get me wrong. I love my job. I enjoy it. I don't regret choosing it. It just seems endless sometimes.

Sharpay and Taylor seem to have given up on me to hang out or visit. Mother is worried about me. She has decided to take it slow nowadays. She's teaching part-time at a local university in Albuquerque. She tells me not to worry about dating right now. She's primarily worried about my health…and my happiness.

Sharpay is a consultant designer for Michael Kors—her dream job. Taylor is a partner at a prestigious law firm. They each have their respective families now. I am so happy for both of them. Genuinely.

But I'm okay. I think I'm happy. In the satisfied, content sense.

I glance over my shoulder to search for an empty seat in the hospital cafeteria.

"Thanks, Jeff," I smile to the chef as he carefully places the chicken sandwich on my plate.

After he nods at me, my phone begins to ring.

"Hello, mom," I say as I make a sad attempt at sounding cheerful.

"Are you coming down for Christmas?" she quickly replies.

"Oh, I am doing fine here in New York. Thanks for asking, mother." My sentence drips with utter sarcasm.

"Don't try to be sarcastic with me," she scolds, "You'll never get a husband by being sarcastic."

I prevent myself from bursting out in laughter as she unknowingly quotes one of my favorite episodes of The Simpsons. "All right, no husband," I smile into the mouthpiece of my iPhone.

"Gabriella Montez, are you going to answer my question?"

I roll my eyes, "Yes, mom. I'm flying in on the seventeenth for Elise's wedding. I already have my ticket," I reassure her.

She answers me with a cynical tone, "Okay. Make sure to call me before you leave—and do not forget to tell me your arrival time so you won't get stuck at the airport like last time."

"Will do, mom. I promise to give you the details of my itinerary before I leave. But I gotta go now. It's my lunch break."

"Love you. I'll call you later, okay?"

I stifle a chuckle, "Love you too. Bye." I tucked my phone back into the pocket of my lab coat.

I bet I'll turn into a complete worrywart like her when…well…if I become a mother someday. I guess she doesn't have a choice whether or not to worry about me. I am her first—and only—born.

I really am baffled as to why Elise and Anthony decided to have their wedding before the holidays. It is such a hectic time. Elise is the reason why I bought an earlier ticket home. Normally, I would leave for Albuquerque on the first day of winter, the twenty-first. But since Elise decided on the twentieth as her wedding date, I had to schedule my flight from JFK to ABQ three days earlier.

I met Elise in undergraduate college at Stanford University. When we found out that we were both from New Mexico, we freaked out. She is from Santa Fe, which is about an hour away from Albuquerque. We emailed and talked on the phone frequently after graduation, and her childhood friend caught up with her, they dated, and the rest is history. Last year, I received an invitation to the wedding. I called her up when I saw the RSVP slip that read "_ attending with _ guests". I was not sure if I would have a date to the wedding. Elise, being the Pollyanna that she is, said, "Put down one guest. You never know when a nice gentleman decides to fawn over the gorgeous Miss Gabriella Montez."

Elise Daniels always knew how to make me smile. She was undoubtedly one of my best friends at Stanford. After she received my call, she called her cousin to book me a room at the nearby Four Seasons free-of-charge, even though I insisted on a cheaper hotel that I could pay with my own money.

I have never stayed at a Four Seasons before. That's one thing to look forward to after the wedding.

I really should have put zero guests down. Now I feel bad that Elise and Anthony probably paid for another seat at the one of the guests' tables for "Miss Gabriella Montez's plus one". Right now, there aren't any takers. I haven't been asked out in a while.

Flying makes me swell with anxiety. I've always been that way. I grip the armrests and pray until 30 minutes have passed after takeoff. You see so many airplane crashes on CNN, and the next thing I think is "What if that airplane could have been my flight?" The simple thought makes me shudder with fear.

I remember getting on a plane with my high school class in junior year for the summer trip to Spain.

I sat completely frozen in my seat after everyone else had boarded the aircraft.

"I don't think I can do this."

"Oh, please. You're overreacting. You've been on a plane, haven't you?"

I nodded slowly.

"You'll be fine," he said casually as he slung my backpack into the overhead bin and closed it shut with a click.

"What if—"

"What if everything goes fine and we land safely in Madrid?" he grins as he interrupts me. He gently plops down in the seat beside me and raises an eyebrow.

I roll my eyes and turn my eyes towards the window to my right.

"This trip is going to be sick. I can feel it, Ella," he proposed enthusiastically and leaned over to place a light kiss on my left cheek.

"Oh, really?" I turned my head to him, beaming.

"Yes," he affirmed before averting his eyes to my ear and touching his thumb to my earring.

Suddenly, the pilot came over the PA system declaring, "Ladies and gentlemen, we are now in the queue after two more planes. We will be taking off shortly. Thank you for your patience."

"Oh God," I muttered. My right hand was squeezing the armrest while my left hand was squeezing something softer—Troy's hand. My knuckles were pale.

He looked over at my hand. "If you wanted me to hold your hand, you could have just asked," he chuckled jovially.

"Shut up, Bolton," I retorted.

"Yes, ma'am," he saluted with his left hand and squeezed my hand with his right.

We did land safely in Madrid as Troy predicted. He proceeded to playfully taunt me about that trip during every aerial trip we took together following Spain. I hated him for it but at the same time I loved it. He was my rock at the time. He claimed that he loved that I was 'independent' and 'smart' and 'beautiful'. I ignored all my insecurities. I pushed myself and encouraged myself more and more because I knew that someone else besides my mom and my girl friends was cheering me on. I was proud to call him my high school sweetheart.

I arranged all of my bags near the door of my small, suburban two-bedroom house the night before the not-so-awaited day. I dressed casually in simple black leggings and a light-wash oversized, denim button up, long enough to cover my behind. I pulled on a pair of black suede wedge boots to finish the look. I made sure to bring my long, gray cardigan—in case I get cold on the plane, which nearly happens every time. I ran a wand of mascara through my eyelashes, smeared enough concealer under my eyes to cover my dark circles, and put some tinted lip balm on my lips. My aim was to dress comfortably while looking decent.

I also made sure to call my mom before calling a taxi to drop me off to John F. Kennedy airport. My flight was scheduled for ten thirty in the morning so the taxi picked me up at six o' clock. I made sure to unplug unnecessary appliances and turn off the lights before heading out the door.

Traffic was not so bad. The taxi ride was pleasant and swift.

I was able to check in and get through security with no problems.

I handed my ticket to the tall lady at the security checkpoint.

"Where is your final destination?" she asked with a frustrated expression on her face.

"Albuquerque, New Mexico," I simply stated.

"All right, miss. Your flight is at Gate 24."

"Gate 24," I reiterated as she handed my ticket back, "Thanks."

She did not bother to say, "You're welcome," looking behind me at the next person in line.

Since there was quite some time before boarding, I walked over to the Au Bon Pain, nearest to my gate and ordered some breakfast food: egg on a bagel with bacon and cheese along with a mocha latte. Who doesn't love breakfast food?

I took the meal with me over to the rows of chairs by the gate and sat down, completely engrossed in my food. The aroma from the mocha latte was enough to awaken my senses. The bagel satisfied my appetite with the fresh scrambled egg and the crispy, mouth-watering bacon. Thank God for breakfast food.

I don't understand how people can decide to be vegetarian because bacon. Bacon is so freaking delicious, especially when it is cooked the right way. My goodness.

After munching away happily on my bagel and inhaling my latte, I took out a book from my bag. I felt that now was a good time to just get lost in a book before I start to feel nauseous and anxious. I really wish my qualms would just go away but I just can't get rid of them.

This will be the first time that I am flying first class. I saved up enough money and sky miles to acquire a first class ticket. I am so proud of myself. No toddlers kicking the back of my seat or weird men drooling on my shoulder. It will be spacious and comfortable; at least I hope it will be. Maybe a nice, handsome businessman will sit next to me. Yes, that would be lovely.

Before I knew it, first class passengers were called to board the plane. I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. I can do this. It will be fine, Gabriella. You will land safely in ABQ and mom will be there, waiting to pick you up. I will be all right. I muster of all my courage and march over with my leather backpack on my back, the strap of my bag on my right shoulder, my paperback in my left hand, and my ticket and passport in my right. I can do this.

I gave the man my ticket. He looked it over and ripped the shorter stub, returning it to me. He gave me a warm smile and lifted his chin to say, "Enjoy your flight, Miss Montez."

"Thank you," I said graciously. His eyes reminded me of Troy's, except for the fact that Troy's eyes were somewhat different—they were brighter. Troy's eyes were a light baby blue under normal light. But they would change. Sometimes, they were gray. They could almost become a glassy navy. Other times, they could transition into the most beautiful bluish, sea green color.

As cliché as it sounds, I got lost in those baby blues countless times. He would be talking to me about things that he would never tell any other person, and I would be getting lost in pools of light gray-blue.

"Ella, are you even listening to me?" he would whisper.

"What?" I would ask, dumbfounded and abruptly heaved out of my reverie.

"Never mind," he would chuckle and kiss me right then and there.

I smiled to myself as I walked through the corridor leading up to the airplane door. A female flight attendant checked my ticket and led me to my seat. I was listed for a window seat, the window on my right. I had my own personal television, a footrest, side table, and a comfy-looking leather chair.

I thanked the flight attendant and carefully placed my backpack and bag in a compartment near my seat. My chair was still connected to another chair but there were two respective armrests between them.

A male flight attendant approached me and politely asked, "Would you like some refreshments before we take off, miss?"

I clasped my hands together, "May I have a glass of chardonnay?" A little wine would be extremely helpful to soothe my nerves before I go into full-blown pteromerhanophobia.

"Certainly," he agreed and left to retrieve my beverage.

I closed my eyes after leaning back in my seat and letting out another deflating sigh. I just want the next five hours and three minutes to be quick and painless, with the least amount of turbulence possible. I heard someone shuffle near the seat next to me—probably my flight mate who will be sitting next to me. I did not open my eyes. I was concentrating on staying calm.

I could hear he or she loading his or her carry on bags into the compartments and finally sitting down next to me.

I continued to concentrate on praying, my hands folded together tightly in my lap. The pilot soon came on the PA system, announcing that we were to buckle our seat belts and that our aircraft would be soon taking off.

My fear resurfaced. My eyes opened wide. My hands gripped the armrests. But once again, my left hand gripped the hand of the person sitting next to me.

"You haven't changed a bit haven't you, Ella?" My once-beloved nickname rolled right off his tongue just like I remembered. Only this time, his voice was deeper and clearer and more confident.

My brown eyes turned to my left only to be captured in light baby blue. But this time, they were brighter. Definitely brighter.

Someday, When my life has passed me by
I'll lay around and wonder why you were always there for me.
One way, In the eyes of a passerby,
I'll look around for another try
And'll fade away.

- Sugar Ray, "Someday"