’ve been on quite a few planes in my life.

There was the flight to Moscow with Dad on my first ever modelling trip, and to Tokyo with Bunty; to Marrakech with Annabel, and New York with Tabitha (she was definitely the most prominent passenger, anyway).

I flew to Nice with Nat and her mum when I was twelve, and to Krakow on a history school trip with my whole class at thirteen, with Alexa throwing peanuts at my head all the way.

But this is the first time it’s just me.

Me, 4,168 miles, nearly eight hours and an Airbus A380: the largest passenger airplane in the world, equivalent to the size of two blue whales.

And I’ve been put in Business Class.

With seats that lie completely flat like beds, a wireless tablet and my own private minibar full of soft drinks, just in case I wasn’t excited enough by this experience already.

This is my first time flying solo, my first time as a proper adventurer and explorer, and I intend to make the most of every second of it.

Ding.

“Yes, madam?” the air hostess says graciously, turning my call button off. “How may I help you?”

I beam at her in delight.

Nobody’s ever called me a madam before, unless I was in trouble, and I don’t think that counts.

“Did you know that if you laid out all the wires on this plane end to end, they would stretch from London to Edinburgh?”

“I didn’t know that, no, madam.”

I snuggle comfortably into the big leather seat-slash-bed.

“And that its wings are actually made in England, the tail in Spain, the fuselage in Germany and it’s all put together in France. Did you know that?”

“No, madam.”

“And that the Airbus A380 fits three thousand suitcases?”

“Yes, madam. Can I get you anything to eat or drink on this journey?”

I think about it carefully. “What can I have?”

“Whatever you like, madam,” she smiles. “This is Business Class. It’s all included.”

A wave of happiness suddenly floods over me.

Being a model rocks.

“Then yes, please,” I yawn, snuggling in a little further. “I think I’ll have it all.”

Sadly, I don’t get to enjoy any of it.

Next thing I know, I’m being nudged gently awake, the plane is descending and the lights are being turned on.

Fudge nuggets.

My first solo flight and I slept through the entire thing. I guess that’ll teach me to stay up all night teaching my friend how to play Indian chess.

“Are we there?” I mumble, sitting up abruptly, wiping a little dribble off my face and flinging open the window shutters. “Is this India?”

Outside is a bright blue early-morning haze.

Even with the plane’s air conditioner turned on full blast, the air looks so warm and thick you could hold it in your hands, and it’s the exact, cerulean shade of Tabby’s eyes.

Or the W of a Word document.

And, beneath that dense blue, in an arch that stretches out and disappears into the shining mist, are tiny buildings: browns and greens, oranges and reds and blues.

A whole country built on colours.

“Madam,” the air hostess says, handing me a wet wipe, “welcome to Delhi.”