As the bus lurched forward, continuing down its route, a quiet moment passed. The boy, who was siting beside the girl, stared out of the window. He had been lost in his own mind, the blur of passing streets and buildings outside pulling his attention in all directions. His fingers fidgeted with is jacket, the movement almost absent, as his thoughts wandered to places he couldn't quite reach.
But then, something caught his eye. Something that shouldn't have been there, something that didn't belong.
It was small at first—a flicker of movement on the seat beside him, the faintest shimmer. He glanced down, and there it was: her phone. Its screen caught the light, reflecting the dull, gray skies outside, and for a moment, he just stared at it, uncomprehending. A thought flickered in his mind. 'Did she left it?'
His heart skipped, but he didn't immediately move. He glanced out of the window again, almost unsure, as if hoping he had been mistaken. But no. There was no denying it. The girl was already gone. He felt the sharp edge of realization hit him, his chest tightening with the sudden pressure of it. She forgot her phone.
His hand hesitated in the air, hovering over the phone, as if the object itself held some kind of weight, something that made the moment feel impossibly important. The bus, moving steadily, picked up speed again, the rhythm of its motion filling the silence. He looked at the phone once more, his fingers now curling around it.
There was no question now. He had to return it to her. He couldn't just leave it there, abandoned like that.
He stood up from his seat, his body feeling stiff as if the action had caught him off guard. He took a few hesitant steps toward the front of the bus, his eyes constantly scanning the seat behind him as if expecting her to turn around and suddenly realize she had forgotten something. But she didn't. The phone lay still, an innocent object, its screen dim and lifeless.
The boy reached the door, and in that instant, a terrible truth hit him. It was already too late.
The bus hadn't stopped moving since she had stepped off. His hand grasped the door handle, and he pressed the button to open it. But the bus didn't slow down. It was accelerating. The stop was already behind them, a blur of concrete and signposts fading as they sped further away.
Panic gnawed at him. His fingers, still clutching her phone, tightened around it as if it could somehow pull him back. He reached the door, pressing the button again with urgency, but nothing happened. He looked out the window, the scenery outside shifting into unfamiliar streets. His chest tightened. He couldn't be too late. He had to get off.
The bus moved faster, passing familiar landmarks that had once seemed close, but now felt impossibly far away. His gaze flicked to the stop in the distance, but it was already out of reach, already too far. He pushed the door button once more, and this time, there was an almost desperate hope behind the movement. Still, nothing happened.
The bus continued forward, its speed unrelenting, as if the world outside had no bearing on the small, frantic moment inside.
When the bus finally reached the next stop, the doors opened with a soft hiss, and the boy rushed off, his footsteps echoing in the empty space around him. He could barely catch his breath, the weight of the phone now a heavy reminder in his hand. He turned quickly, scanning the sidewalk, looking for any sign of the girl. His heart pounded. 'She had to still be there.'
But there was nothing. No one. The stop was completely empty.
He took a step forward, then another, his eyes moving slowly over the now quiet street. The air felt cold, as if it were mocking him. There was no sign of her at all. Not even a hint of her presence.
The boy stood there, the silence enveloping him. He could still feel the phone in his hand, its small, fragile weight, like the last connection he had to a fleeting moment that had already slipped away. He had missed it. Missed the chance to return it, missed the chance to make it right.
Slowly, almost as if in a daze, he began to walk back toward the bus, his steps slow and unsteady, the world around him narrowing, until all he could hear was the faint echo of his own breathing. The street seemed impossibly vast, and in that vastness, he felt smaller, more distant, as if the girl—and the phone—were already far out of reach.
He now runs back to the bus, and enters.
The bus doors closed behind him, and the quiet hum of the engine began again, like the rhythm of a world that kept moving, no matter how much you wished it would stop.
When he finally reached home, the weight of the world seemed to settle on his shoulders, each step feeling like a small eternity. The door clicked shut behind him, but it barely registered in his mind. His body moved on autopilot, as if the familiar surroundings of his home couldn't hold his attention. His mind was miles away, still locked in that moment. The moment he couldn't shake. The moment with her.
Her blue eyes—so vivid, so alive, like nothing he had ever seen before. He could still see them clearly, even though they had only locked with his for a fleeting instant. Those eyes, sparkling in the storm, had held something powerful, something deep and mysterious, and for the briefest of moments, he felt as though he was falling into them. Her face, framed by rain-soaked hair, had been glowing despite the storm. She had been soaked to the bone, and yet, she had looked so radiant. The water dripping from her face, running down her cheeks like tiny rivers, seemed to hold a story he desperately wanted to know.
But now, standing in his hallway, his body soaked with his own rain, it felt as though the world around him had lost its meaning. Everything felt muted. The walls of his house, the familiar wooden floor beneath his feet, the heavy air around him—they all seemed so far away. As if they were mere props in a scene that wasn't his own. The memory of her was all that filled him, all that kept his heart racing in his chest, even though she was miles away.
He walked, almost absentmindedly, to his room, but his feet felt heavy, dragging behind him as though they were reluctant to leave the thoughts of her. His snikkers, still muddied from the wet ground, left faint imprints on the floor as he moved. But he hardly noticed. His thoughts were somewhere else, still with her. Still with her smile, the way the rain had clung to her skin, the way she had looked—so alive and real, despite the storm raging around them.
When he reached his room, he didn't bother to turn on the light. The gray sky outside seemed to leak into the room, casting soft shadows that danced across the walls. He sank into his bed, the coolness of the sheets barely registering beneath him. His body collapsed, but his mind was still somewhere else, caught between the present and the memory of her. He shut his eyes, trying to push the thoughts away, but they clung to him stubbornly. Her image—those eyes, that smile—haunted him. The sensation of her presence was still so strong in his mind that he could almost feel the wetness of her clothes, the chill in the air, the cool rain against his own skin.
He could almost hear her voice, too. It wasn't loud, but soft, like a whisper in the back of his mind. The words weren't clear, but he knew what she was saying. I'm here, I'm still here. He could feel her even in the quiet of his room. The minutes passed slowly, each one stretching out in front of him like a long road with no end. The world outside was still, the rain tapping gently against the window, like the softest of rhythms.
Then, without warning, a sound broke the stillness. A sound that was not his own. At first, it was barely noticeable—just a faint hum, a soft vibration in the air. But then, it became clearer. A ring. A phone ringing. His heart skipped a beat, and for a split second, he wondered if he had imagined it. He stayed still, waiting for it to pass, to fade away like some trick of his mind. But it came again. Another ring, louder this time, more distinct, unmistakable.
It wasn't his phone..
***
A/N: is it getting interessstingg.
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