The bus arrived late that morning.
That alone should have warned me.
I stood at the stop, bag clutched against my chest, watching the road stretch endlessly ahead. College had only been open for a few weeks, but already my routine had settled—same bus, same seat, same quiet hope that pretended not to be hope.
I told myself I wasn't looking for him.
I was just… aware.
The bus finally groaned to a halt. I climbed in, greeted by the familiar smell of dust and metal, and took my usual seat near the front. My friend slid in beside me, already mid-conversation about assignments and deadlines.
I nodded. Smiled. Listened.
And then—
Something shifted.
I didn't turn immediately. I don't know why. Maybe instinct. Maybe fear of disappointing myself.
But I felt it.
The subtle change in the air.The pause that wasn't mine.
I glanced at the rearview mirror above the driver's seat.
And there he was.
Standing near the back, one hand gripping the overhead rail, taller than I remembered. Broader. Less boy, more something undefined and dangerous to my peace.
Rayan.
My breath caught so sharply it almost hurt.
For a second, I genuinely believed my mind had betrayed me. That this was just another illusion born from too many unspoken thoughts.
But then he looked up.
And our eyes met.
The world didn't stop. That was the strange part. The bus kept moving. People kept talking. Life went on like nothing monumental had just happened.
Only my chest forgot how to work.
His expression flickered—surprise, confusion, something softer that vanished before I could name it. He didn't smile. Didn't look away immediately either.
Just stared.
As if trying to confirm I was real.
I turned forward first.
Coward.
My heart thudded so loudly I was sure everyone could hear it. My friend nudged me, saying something about notes, but her words slid past me without meaning.
Behind me, I could feel him.
Not his gaze exactly—just his presence. Solid. Unavoidable.
The bus jolted over a bump. I gripped my bag tighter.
This wasn't how it was supposed to happen.
I had imagined reunions in silence, in distance, in never at all. Not like this—trapped in motion, surrounded by strangers, with no space to escape my own memories.
At the next stop, more people got on. The aisle filled. Noise rose.
And still, he didn't move.
I risked another glance, pretending to look for the conductor.
He was watching me.
Not boldly. Not openly.
Carefully.
Like someone afraid that if they looked too hard, the moment would break.
My stomach twisted.
Why was he here?
I had spent months convincing myself he had moved on. Gone to another city. Another life. A chapter closed so neatly it almost felt merciful.
Yet here he was—close enough that if I stood, our shoulders would brush.
The bus slowed near my college stop.
Panic surged unexpectedly.
I didn't want this moment to end.
And I didn't want it to continue either.
As I stood, my movements felt mechanical. I stepped into the aisle, head down, avoiding his eyes.
But just as I passed him—
"Hey."
One word. Quiet. Uncertain.
It stopped me.
I turned.
He looked… different up close. Not just older—changed. His eyes held something unreadable now, something that hadn't been there before.
"Hi," I said.
The word came out smaller than I intended.
We stood there, the bus idling, people waiting behind us. Neither of us moved.
"How… are you?" he asked.
Simple question. Dangerous answer.
"I'm fine," I lied smoothly. "You?"
"Yeah." A pause. "Good."
Another silence. Heavy. Pressing.
The conductor cleared his throat impatiently.
"I should go," I said quickly.
"Yeah," he replied, too fast. "Of course."
As I stepped down from the bus, I felt his gaze follow me. Not burning. Not intense.
Just… present.
I didn't look back.
But I knew—deep down—that something fragile had cracked open.
That this wasn't coincidence.
And that whatever we had buried years ago had just taken its first breath again.
Behind me, the bus doors closed.
Ahead of me, my college gates waited.
And somewhere between the two—
A story had begun again, whether I was ready or not.