Elian clutched his worn backpack, shoulders tight beneath the heat. Summer light glared off the concrete, and sweat traced a slow line down his neck as he sat on the bench, waiting for the bus.
It was his first day at his new high school. His first day back in Country J.
The move had been sudden—his father's work leaving little room for negotiation—and everything felt unfamiliar: the street, the voices drifting past, even the weight of the uniform on his skin. He sat straighter than necessary, too aware of himself, counting the minutes as if they might anchor him.
Ah—finally.
A battered blue bus rumbled into view, brakes screeching as it pulled to a stop. The doors hissed open. Elian stood quickly, brushing invisible crumbs from his trousers, then hesitated. The driver was unfamiliar. Everything was unfamiliar.
Ten minutes of waiting felt like much longer when nerves refused to settle.
"Sorry—excuse me!"
The shout came from behind.
Elian turned just as a boy sprinted toward the bus, stumbling over a loose stone. He caught himself on the scratched metal pole near the doors—but not before colliding straight into Elian.
"O—sorry," the boy mumbled, barely lifting his eyes.
Elian nodded instinctively, shifting aside as the driver barked for them to hurry. Inside, the bus was thick with noise and heat, packed with students in identical uniforms, laughter and chatter pressing in from every direction.
Elian moved down the aisle, searching for an empty seat by the window.
He found one near the back.
Looking out the window had always been a comfort—movement without expectation, scenery that asked nothing of him. The passing streets softened something tight in his chest.
Today's going to be fine, he told himself. The seat beside him dipped.
The same boy slid in, clutching his bag and fumbling with his collar, which had flipped up during the rush. His fingers shook as he tried to fix it, growing more flustered by the second.
Elian noticed before he could stop himself. He hesitated—then reached out, gently straightening the boy's collar.
"There," he said quietly.
The boy froze.
Their eyes met.
Something sharp and electric ran up Elian's spine, raising the fine hairs along his arms.
Lub-dud. Lub-dud.
His heart stumbled, then raced.
Heat flooded his face. He looked away too quickly, suddenly fascinated by the scratched glass of the window as the bus lurched forward, jolting them together.
Neither spoke.
The engine's hum filled the space between them, heavy and constant, as the city blurred past.