## Male First Person POV:
The bus was already closing its doors when I reached it.
My hand shot out instinctively, suspended in a quiet, fruitless desperation, as if the gesture alone might persuade the driver to recognise something in me worth waiting for.
He glanced at me. Just once.
It was enough.
Not cold. Not dismissive. Just tired. The kind of look that said he had already decided long before I arrived.
The bus pulled away.
I stood there, breath uneven, shoulders loosening as the effort left me, left behind by something that hadn't cared either way.
Behind me, rush hour moved on without pause. Cars in steady lines. Footsteps crossing and recrossing the pavement. Voices rising and dissolving into one another. Noise, constant and unbroken, stretching time into something dull and heavy.
My final opportunity for a job sat somewhere ahead.
And now so did a thirty-five minute wait.
I turned toward the seats.
All occupied.
One elderly man. Two pregnant women.
"…what is this, mating season?"
With a quiet exhale, I leaned back against the cold glass, letting the chill settle me.
After a while, I closed my eyes.
For a moment, there was nothing,
and then everything.
Cars passing in waves. Distant conversations blurring into a dull hum. The light rhythm of shoes against pavement. Wind slipping through leaves, just enough to be heard. Each sound layering upon the next until the world felt both distant and overwhelmingly present all at once.
Then,
Footsteps.
Closer.
And with them, something softer.
A scent.
Warm. Faint. Vanilla.
It passed by me before I fully noticed it, but something in me lingered on it anyway, drawing from me a quiet, involuntary stillness.
"…35 minutes? You've got to be kidding me."
A voice followed. Refined. High-pitched. Edged with irritation.
Familiar.
My eyes opened.
Slowly at first.
Then fully.
And when my vision settled,
it found her.
And didn't move.
Everything else seemed to quiet down.
Not gone.
Just… less.
My gaze settled on her hair first.
Dark. Smooth. Falling neatly past her shoulders with a natural precision that felt almost deliberate, as though even a single strand had never once dared fall out of place.
And then her skin, soft, pale, carrying a warmth that felt almost out of place against everything else around us.
I should have looked away.
I didn't.
Something in my chest tightened.
My heartbeat, once scattered, began to steady.
Clear. Noticeable.
*thump… thump*
My eyes moved without permission.
Her face, balanced in a way that didn't feel accidental. Her eyebrows curved cleanly, her features set with a quiet precision that didn't need attention, yet held it anyway.
And her eyes,
deep. Still.
Holding something that made looking away feel less like a choice and more like a loss.
My gaze drifted further.
Her arms, slender, controlled. Not fragile. Intentional.
Her posture, effortless.
Her movements, unhurried. The kind that made the world feel like it would wait, if it had to.
And then, again, my attention returned to her face.
A small mole beside her eye.
Subtle.
Familiar.
Something I hadn't let myself think about in,
No.
That wasn't right.
I had thought about it.
More times than I should have.
My chest tightened further.
Her lips.
Soft. Smooth. Coloured a quiet maroon.
Her favourite.
You used to argue about that shade, saying every other red looked wrong on you.
I told you it didn't matter.
You said it did.
You always said it did.
My breath caught.
The bus stop blurred at the edges.
Her eyes, the same way they used to look at me when you were trying not to laugh. Or when you were. Or when you weren't looking at me at all.
My fingers twitched at my side.
I shouldn't be thinking this.
But I was…
Her posture shifted slightly. Unhurried. Effortless.
You used to move like that too. Like the world would wait if it had to.
Her scent reached me again as someone passed between us.
Vanilla. Faint. But enough.
And then…
You standing in the rain, far from home, pretending it didn't bother you.
Me running further than I should have, just to place an umbrella in your hands.
You laughing when I was already soaked. Saying I looked stupid. Saying thank you anyway.
We danced in a field of roses. You tripped on your dress and we laughed about it till dawn.
At the beach, you worried I would look at others. I worried I wouldn't be able to enjoy it at all, knowing I could never bring myself to look away from you.
When you went off to study for years, I counted every day, you said not to, I did anyway.
The present returned slowly.
Reluctantly.
Like something unwelcome, yet inevitable.
I was still staring.
Still standing.
Still caught somewhere between what was, and what no longer was.
The bus arrived.
Movement resumed. Noise returned. Time, once suspended, continued without care.
I stepped forward, almost absentmindedly, until something in me urged a final glance.
Her hand shifted slightly.
Her phone slipped away.
And there,
resting quietly on the fourth finger of her left hand,
was a ring.
My mouth shifted.
It can't be.
My gaze lingered.
Of course…
People don't just stay the same as my memory of them.
A quiet breath left me.
Not sharp.
Just final.
It wasn't that I didn't recognize her.
It was that I did…
"Excuse me, sir, are you getting on the bus or not?"
The driver's voice cut through the moment.
I blinked, pulling myself back.
"Y-yeah, sorry."
I stepped in, paid, and moved forward.
Behind me, a soft chuckle followed, light, fleeting, unmistakably hers.
I turned.
She was smiling.
For a moment, something in me lifted.
I felt a pull, an almost-step toward her, then caught myself.
Then, just as quickly, it fell.
What am I doing?
She's moved on.
And I'm standing here, reading into things that were never meant for me.
I looked away and took my seat, forcing my gaze forward, refusing to look back again.
The memory pressed on regardless.
Her hair. Her smile. The way she always tilted her head when she laughed. The scent, vanilla, still faint, still there.
I pressed my palms to my knees.
Telling myself it was over.
That this, all of this, was past.
I exhaled slowly.
Not relief. Not acceptance.
Just endurance.
## Female First Person POV
He didn't look at me again.
Not once.
And yet, I couldn't seem to look away.
I noticed him before I meant to.
He wasn't handsome in the way people usually described it. Not striking at first glance. Not the kind that demanded attention or expected to be seen.
But there was something about him.
Something subtle. Something persistent.
The kind that settled into you the longer you observed, quietly refusing to leave.
He sat with his shoulders uneven, a habit after years of carrying a bag on a single strap.
His eyes were a deep golden brown, expressive in a way that felt almost dangerous, as though looking into them for too long might reveal more than one was prepared to see.
There was a familiarity to him.
Not immediate.
Not clear.
But present, the way a melody feels known before you can name it. Close, yet just beyond reach.
I watched, almost absentmindedly, as his gaze had moved across me earlier.
Careful. Unhurried.
The kind that takes in rather than takes.
And then, I had seen it, the moment his eyes found my hand.
The ring.
Of course.
Anyone would have noticed.
My fingers shifted slightly, feeling its familiar weight resting where it always had.
A promise ring.
Not a marriage.
Not yet.
Did he really forget?
You gave it to me.
You said we would make it real one day, when everything had settled, when the timing was finally right.
I exhaled softly, pushing the thought away before it could take hold.
There was no point in dwelling on something that clearly no longer held meaning.
Not to him, anyway.
The bus slowed.
My stop.
And, as it turned out,
his as well.
Of course.
I stepped off into cooler air, clearer somehow, as though the weight of the bus and everything within it had been left behind on the seats.
A pigeon cooed nearby. The wind tugged at my coat.
He walked ahead. Not hurried, but distant in a way that felt deliberate.
I followed.
A few steps at first.
Then closer.
"Excuse me, Ha—"
"Sorry… I-I'm busy."
The interruption was immediate.
Abrupt.
His voice, firm, but carrying something beneath it.
Something unsteady. Something barely held.
"I just wanted to—"
"I said I'm busy."
Slightly sharper.
Still not steady.
He walked away without turning back. Without pausing. Without giving me the chance to finish what I had already begun.
I stood there a moment longer than I should have.
Then, slowly, I reached for my hand.
My thumb brushed against the promise ring, stiffening slightly upon contact.
Then…
The ring slipped off with surprising ease,
as though it had been waiting for this moment far longer than I had.
I held it for a second.
Then I placed it into my pocket.
What's the point of a promise,
if it no longer exists?
I turned and walked in the opposite direction, my steps steady, my gaze fixed ahead.
I didn't look back.
## Male First Person POV
I shouldn't have said that.
The thought came quickly, sharp, immediate, settling heavier with each step I took away from her.
I slowed.
Then stopped.
Then turned.
If she's still there,
If she looks back,
I'll go.
I'll fix it.
But she didn't.
She was already walking away, her figure steady, her pace unwavering, her direction certain in a way mine had never been.
Of course.
Why would she?
I turned back, forcing myself forward, each step heavier than the last.
The building soon came into view, bright, structured, purposeful.
A place that demanded clarity.
Something I no longer had.
I stepped inside and was asked to wait.
So I did.
Seated in the lobby, I let the noise within me settle, the chaos slowly giving way to something quieter.
Something more hollow.
From my bag, I pulled out my diary.
A habit I had picked up years ago.
A habit she had given me.
I opened it.
Paused.
Then I began to write.
—
## Both POV
I met a stranger today.
I knew their past,
Lived their present,
and even planned their future.
And yet,
they were still…
just a stranger.