The evening air was sharp biting against her skin as Aarohi hurried down the street. She clutched the strap of her tote bag, the weight pulling at her shoulder, her heels clicking against the wet pavement.
Late again.
Work had run over—too many revisions, too many last-minute calls. She barely had time to grab her umbrella before rushing out, her boss’s voice still echoing in her head as she darted through the crowded sidewalks.
By the time she reached the bus stop, her lungs burned, and a thin sheen of sweat clung to her skin despite the chill. She looked up at the digital display above the shelter.
Next bus in 28 mins.
Her heart sank.
She had missed it.
Her fingers tightened around the strap of her bag until her knuckles hurt. She didn’t need to check which bus it was. She knew. The bus. The only one that mattered now.
Aarohi sank onto the cold metal bench, the chill biting through her jeans. People milled around her—talking into phones, scrolling through screens, tapping impatient feet—but she sat frozen, staring at the empty road stretching ahead.
It was ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous. It wasn’t like this was some ritual. Not like they had made plans. Not like he even… expected her.
And yet.
Her mind betrayed her looping the same image again and again: Arjun sitting in his usual spot, earphones dangling, gaze flicking up every time the doors opened. Watching strangers step in. Waiting. And then, slowly, looking away when it wasn’t her.
Would he even care? Would he even notice she wasn’t there?
Aarohi laughed under her breath, bitter and small. “Get a grip, Aarohi.”
The wind picked up, a loose strand of hair sticking across her cheek. She tucked it back roughly tugging her scarf tighter as if fabric alone could hold her together. It didn’t help. The cold wasn’t just in her fingers anymore. It had spread everywhere, crawling up her arms and seeping into her chest.
Because for the first time in days she wasn’t going to see him.
And the hollow ache that bloomed inside scared her more than she wanted to admit.
She thought about his voice, low and calm, teasing her about doodling on math pages. The way his laugh had sounded that day, like she was the only one who had earned it. The way his hoodie had smelled when she’d pulled it over her head, soap and rain and something she couldn’t name but couldn’t stop thinking about.
God, why did it feel like missing a bus meant missing… everything?
Her phone buzzed, dragging her out of her thoughts. Messages from her best friend stacked like impatient reminders:
Dinner tonight? Where are you?
Aarohi??
Her thumb hovered over the screen. The idea of sitting across a table, pretending to be present while her mind sat on that bus, was unbearable.
She typed back quickly: Work. Tired. Rain check.
It was easier to lie than to explain why her chest felt like someone had pulled a thread loose and everything was unraveling.
The next bus rolled in with a hiss of brakes. Not his. Not 47.
She let it go.
Another came. Still not his.
By the time she finally boarded one, the sky had gone from grey to darker purple, the kind that blurred the city’s edges. Neon signs bled into the wet streets, puddles glimmering like glass under the streetlights.
This bus smelled different, like stale fries and cheap deodorant. The seats were stiffer, their fabric cold against her legs. The hum beneath her feet didn’t feel the same. And no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t stop comparing everything to the other one.
To him.
She stared out the window, watching the city slide by in a blur . Every time the doors hissed open, she half-expected him to appear, sliding into the seat next to her like nothing had changed. But of course, he didn’t.
And the emptiness beside her felt louder than any conversation could.
When she reached home, she tossed her keys onto the table and kicked off her shoes without bothering to line them up neatly. The apartment felt heavier tonight, the silence pressing in from all sides. Usually she loved quiet evenings and time to herself, space to breathe. But now, silence just meant absence.
She collapsed onto the bed not even bothering to change. Her bag slid to the floor. She lay there staring at the ceiling with her chest tight, her thoughts circling the same point like vultures.
Her fingers brushed something soft at the foot of the bed. She pulled it closer.
The hoodie. His hoodie. Light grey, a little worn at the cuffs, still carrying the faintest trace of him. She buried her face into the fabric, inhaling until her lungs ached. It didn’t matter that it was just cotton. To her it smelled like warmth, like a memory she hadn’t lived yet but already missed.
And something inside her cracked wide open.
It wasn’t just curiosity anymore. It wasn’t just nostalgia for a classmate she barely remembered.
It was something deeper.
Something dangerous.
Because tomorrow wasn’t promised. Tomorrow, he could be gone. Or worse. Tomorrow, he could be there with that same soft smile meant for someone else. A girl who wasn’t her.
Aarohi curled up on her side, the hoodie clutched against her chest like it could hold her together. The cotton was far too thin to fight off the cold in her bones, but she held it tighter anyway.
Her last thought before sleep came wasn’t about deadlines, or work, or even the ache in her shoulder. It was a quiet and desperate hope that lodged itself in the center of her chest and refused to let go:
Please let him be there tomorrow.
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