The morning after felt longer than it should have.
Aarohi woke with his hoodie still tangled around her with that faint scent of rain and soap clinging to her skin. For a second, before her eyes even opened, she smiled.
Then reality hit. She’d missed him last night. And today was no guarantee.
By evening, the hours had dragged by. Every click of her pen at work, every ring of the phone, every glance at the clock, all of it circled back to the same thought.
Would he be there?
The city was painted in gold and violet when she finally stepped out of the office. Streetlamps flickered, scattering halos across the cemented raodside. Her legs carried her faster than usual though she tried to keep her expression calm, as if she weren’t racing toward something fragile she couldn’t name.
When the bus hissed to a stop, her heart stopped with it.
She climbed on, breath caught in her throat. The familiar hum of the engine, the faint scent of metal and damp jackets all washed over her at once.
Her eyes darted instinctively towards the aisle.
And then, right there.
Back row. Window seat.
Light blue hoodie this time. The color softened him, making his features seem younger, almost boyish under the fluorescent glow of the lights. His hair fell across his forehead just slightly messy, like he hadn’t bothered fixing it after a long day.
He looked up.
And for the first time, she swore the smallest flicker of relief passed over his face.
Aarohi froze for half a second, fingers tightening around her tote strap. Then before doubt could sink in, she walked down the aisle and slid into the seat beside him. Like she had always belonged there.
“You weren’t here yesterday,” he said quietly, almost too quickly.
Her chest squeezed. He had noticed.
“Work,” she replied with her voice careful. “Got stuck late.”
He nodded, gaze dropping for a moment as if registering that information away somewhere important. Then, softer and almost under his breath, “The bus felt different.”
Her pulse stumbled. She wasn’t sure she’d heard him right.
“What?” she asked, even though she already knew.
He shook his head lightly. “Nothing.”
The engine roared as the bus pulled back into traffic. Streetlights blend together on the window glass, looking a blend of white and amber.
“You kept it,” he said suddenly with his gaze flicking toward the grey hoodie bundled in her lap.
Aarohi hadn’t realized how tightly she was holding it until now. She swallowed, cheeks warming. “Yeah. You said tomorrow.”
His lips curved, just slightly. “Glad you listened for once.”
She huffed a laugh, the tension in her chest loosening, if only a little. “You make it sound like I never do.”
“Well,” he tilted his head, pretending to think, “history says otherwise. You ignored me for… what, five years straight?”
Her stomach dipped. She hadn’t expected that. “I didn’t ignore you,” she said quickly, then faltered. “I mean, not on purpose. We just… never talked.”
His eyes met hers, steady, unreadable. “Funny how that changes now.”
Aarohi looked away first, staring at the blur of neon outside. Her hands twisted the fabric of the hoodie in her lap, wringing it like a confession she couldn’t voice.
Silence stretched between them, but it wasn’t empty. It pulsed with something alive, something heavier than words. She felt it in the brush of his knee against hers whenever the bus jolted. In the quiet awareness of his gaze lingering longer than it should.
Finally, she broke it. “Do you take this bus every day?”
“Not always.” His tone was casual, but something flickered in his eyes.
Her brows furrowed. “Then why now?”
He leaned back against the window, one arm draped loosely over the seat. “Why not?”
It wasn’t an answer, not really but it made her throat tighten. Because she already suspected the truth. And if she said it out loud, if she dared to hope, she wasn’t sure she’d survive the weight of it.
The bus slowed, brakes hissing and the crowd shifted. A group of college kids piled in, loud with laughter and music spilling faintly from someone’s speaker. For once, Aarohi didn’t mind the noise. It made the small cocoon of space she shared with Arjun feel even more intimate, like they were separate from the world entirely.
He nudged her elbow lightly. “Still doodle on papers when you’re bored?”
She blinked. “What?”
“Back in school,” he said, the corner of his mouth twitching. “You used to draw little flowers in the margins of your notes. Sometimes stars. Sometimes… nothing that made sense.”
Her jaw dropped slightly. “You noticed that?”
“I notice more than you think,” he replied simply.
The words landed heavy in her chest, sinking deep. She wanted to ask what else he had noticed, what else he remembered but the courage caught in her throat.
Instead, she whispered “I don’t doodle as much now.”
“Shame,” he murmured, leaning just close enough that she caught the low timbre of his voice, the faint warmth of his breath. “They used to make the boring lectures bearable.”
Her stomach flipped violently and she had to look away before he saw too much on her face. Outside, the city streaked past in glimmers of light and shadow. Inside, her heart pounded like a drum, louder than the engine, louder than everything.
When her stop finally neared, she stood slowly reluctant to break whatever fragile thing had settled between them.
“Tomorrow?” he asked, his voice softer now almost tentative.
She clutched the hoodie tighter, meeting his gaze for a heartbeat longer than necessary.
“Tomorrow” she promised.
And as she stepped into the night, the cold no longer felt quite so sharp.
Because tomorrow had come.
And it had been worth the wait.
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