The map I kept from the last flight I navigated

It’s a faded, creased thing—paper from a 1987 navigation log, with my handwritten corrections in pencil and ink. The route was supposed to be straight from Nicosia to Larnaca, but a sudden squall forced us off course. I rerouted by dead reckoning, using only star fixes and wind drift estimates. We landed with 47 minutes of fuel left. I still keep that map folded in my jacket pocket. Not because it’s useful anymore. Just because it reminds me what precision feels like when it matters.