The Missed Bus
After Martin left for his next flight, Semina didn't move immediately.
She stood at the edge of the launch point watching him go, then turned toward the valley. The sun was descending slowly, painting everything in shades of amber and rose that felt almost unreasonably beautiful. She pulled out her phone.
One photo. Then another. Then fifteen more.
She walked further along the ridge path, chasing the light the way it kept shifting between trees and open sky. She photographed the lake below, a distant temple roof catching the last gold of the afternoon, a single bird crossing the frame at exactly the right moment.
She didn't think about exams. She didn't think about the workshop room or the ticking clock.
She just walked and clicked and breathed.
Time, predictably, disappeared.
Her phone buzzed at six.
Ash: where are you
Ash: semina
Ash: SEMINA
She called back immediately.
"I'm near the paragliding point, I was just—"
"The last shuttle is at seven." Ash's voice had that particular pitch of someone trying very hard to remain calm. "Do you understand what I'm saying? Seven o'clock. It is currently six o'clock. The dinner is at nine and the teacher specifically said we must notify them if we are not back by eight and are you even listening to me right now—"
"I'm listening—"
"Because it does not feel like listening. It feels like you are standing somewhere beautiful taking photographs while I explain basic time to you."
"I'll get an online ride," Semina said. "It's fine. I'll be back before dinner."
"Semina—"
"Ash. I promise."
She hung up with the confidence of someone who had not yet checked ride availability.
She found the nearest food stalls while searching for her app. Small wooden shops selling painted keychains, embroidered bags, tiny framed photographs of the very valley she had just been standing in. She bought a keychain for Ash — a small silver bird — and stopped at a stall selling hot noodles in paper cups.
She sat on a low wall and ate.
The noodles were excellent.
The bus, as she discovered mid-bite, was less excellent.
It moved past the stop at exactly 6:47 while she was looking the other direction, paper cup still in hand.
She stared at its retreating lights.
Then she opened her ride app.
Nearest driver: 34 minutes.
She called Ash back.
"The bus—"
"I know."
"How do you know?"
"Because I know you," Ash said, not unkindly. "Just get a ride. How far?"
"Thirty minute walk to the pickup point."
A long pause.
"Semina."
"I'll start walking."
"It's getting dark."
"The moon is full. It's actually very bright out here."
Ash made a sound that was not quite a word.
Semina sat on a bench near the stalls and looked up.
The sky had deepened to a blue that was almost black at the edges, and the moon sat full and unhurried above the hills, throwing pale light across the path and the valley below. Stars appeared one by one like they were deciding whether to bother.
She thought, unexpectedly, of home.
If Papa knew, his phone would have rung five times by now. Where are you. Should I come. Tell me exactly where you are standing. Do I need to come.
She exhaled slowly.
She loved him and the calls exhausted her and both things were true.
Here, the night was simply quiet.
She allowed herself thirty more seconds of it before standing up and shouldering her bag.
She had walked perhaps eight minutes when she heard the engine slow beside her.
"What are you still doing here?"
She turned.
Martin, on a motorbike, looked down at her with the expression of someone reviewing a mildly disappointing report.
His gaze moved from her face to her bag to her general situation.
"Bus," she said.
"Missed it?"
"It left early."
"It left on time."
She chose not to respond to that. "I'm getting a ride. The pickup is about twenty minutes from here."
He looked at the road ahead. Then back at her.
"Get on."
The ride back was faster than she expected. Martin drove without unnecessary speed, which she appreciated, and without conversation, which she also appreciated. The night air was cool and the road curved gently between trees and she held on with the careful posture of someone trying very hard to be a low-maintenance passenger.
As the resort lights appeared ahead, she leaned forward slightly.
"You can drop me here. Just — here is fine."
"The entrance is two minutes away."
"Here is also fine."
He didn't slow down.
"I said—"
He pulled up directly in front of the resort entrance with a composure that suggested he had not heard her, or had heard her and found the request unreasonable.
Semina climbed off with what dignity remained.
And then she saw them.
Ash, standing at the entrance with wide eyes and a keycard in her hand. Behind her, a small cluster of classmates who had apparently chosen this exact moment to return from dinner. Three of them had their phones out.
The silence lasted approximately one second.
"Who," Ash said carefully, "is that."
"Nobody," Semina said. "Just — there were no rides and this person was going the same direction—"
"That person," Ash said, watching Martin check his phone with absolutely no awareness of the situation he had created, "does not look like nobody."
"He's just — he works at the paragliding place. He's older. Practically ancient."
From behind her, clearly and without any attempt at discretion, Martin said:
"Old man, you say."
It was not a question.
It contained, however, an entire paragraph of amusement.
Semina closed her eyes briefly.
Ash looked between them with the focused attention of someone assembling a puzzle at high speed.
Martin pocketed his phone, glanced at Semina with an expression that was professionally neutral except for the slight pull at the corner of his mouth, and said, "Try to catch the bus next time."
Then he strode away.
Ash grabbed Semina's arm.
"Start talking."
"There's nothing to—"
"From the beginning."
"Ash—"
"From. The. Beginning."