The next evening Aarohi stepped onto Bus 47 again.
She didn’t plan it. She had to work late, and this was the first bus she caught. Still, her pulse jumped as soon as she crossed the door.
Her eyes moved quickly scanning the rows.
He was there.
Same spot near the back, slouched against the seat like the day before. But not exactly the same because now she looked closer.
The dim lights overhead brushed against his profile, tracing the sharp angle of his jaw and the faint stubble along it. His hair was slightly damp, strands falling messily over his forehead. One arm rested against the metal bar with his forearm bare where the hoodie sleeve had been pushed up. His fingers curled loosely, knuckles strong, veins faintly visible.
The phone glowed faintly in his other hand white light catching against his lashes longer than she remembered, throwing a small shadow on his cheek.
Aarohi’s steps slowed for a second too long. She tightened her grip on the tote bag and forced herself forward, pretending to look for a seat like everyone else.
Today the bus wasn’t as crowded. Plenty of empty places. But her legs refused to move further back. She dropped into a seat a few rows ahead, letting the weight of her bag pull her down.
She didn’t look at him this time. Not yet.
Outside, evening shadows stretched across the road. Headlights streamed white and red, slicing through the drizzle. Aarohi traced the edge of the window with her finger, following the streaks of water that had settled into crooked lines.
Was he looking?
She wanted to check, but didn’t dare.
Instead her mind wandered back to school, where it always seemed to now. Arjun was always there, but never loud. Always present yet somehow outside the picture. She remembered him in group photos, standing at the edge, half-smiling like he didn’t mind being invisible.
And she remembered talking to everyone but him. Passing him in corridors without a thought. She couldn’t explain why those memories bothered her now.
The bus jerked snapping her out of it. Aarohi adjusted her scarf and glanced at her reflection in the glass. A tired face stared back. Her mascara smudged under her eyes, hair still damp from the rain, lips pale from the cold. She pressed her lips together wishing she’d at least fixed her hair before running for the bus.
And then before she could stop herself, she turned.
His eyes were on her.
Not for long just a flicker, a moment and he looked away like nothing happened. But it was enough to send a bolt of electricity straight through her.
She faced forward quickly, her breath caught in her throat.
So, he does remember me… right? she thought.
Her phone buzzed in her hand, screen lighting up with a message from her friend: “You home yet?”
Aarohi typed back slowly: On the way.
But her mind wasn’t on the screen. Every sound faded under the weight of one looping question:
Should she talk to him?
The thought made her stomach twist. What would she even say? “Hey, didn’t we spend years in the same class and never spoke?”
No, thank you.
Her stop came too fast. Aarohi stood up her fingers tightening around the strap of her bag. She wanted to glance back one last time but didn’t, maybe it was pride, maybe fear, or maybe because she didn’t trust what her face might show.
She stepped off into the cool air. The street smelled of wet ground and fried food from a stall nearby. People hurried past with bags and umbrellas their voices blurring into the hum of traffic.
Aarohi walked slowly her mind replaying that two-second glance like it meant something. Maybe it didn’t. Maybe it was nothing.
Behind her, the bus pulled away, its taillights glowing faintly in the mist.
And at the very back, Arjun watched her through the glass.
Not moving. Not blinking.
For the second day in a row, he let her go without saying a word.
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