Not because anything was actually happening. Her office looked the same, smelled the same, sounded the same but inside her chest, everything buzzed like someone had plugged her heart into a faulty power outlet.
She kept tugging the sleeves of the light grey hoodie, the fabric soft against her fingers. She had meant to leave it at home. Really. She had stood there staring at herself in the mirror, debating like it was some life decision.
But in the end, she’d pulled it on anyway.
Maybe because it was warm.
Maybe because it smelled like him.
Maybe because part of her hoped he’d notice.
Her coworker Maahira plopped into the chair beside her desk, chewing gum loudly. “Girl, why do you look like you haven’t slept in five days?”
Aarohi blinked. “I slept.”
“Uh-huh,” Maahira said, narrowing her eyes. “Let me guess, mystery boy again?”
Aarohi nearly choked on her coffee. “What mystery boy?”
“Oh please,” Maahira scoffed. “You’ve been floating around like a scene from a Bollywood movie. Rain, bus rides, sad eyes out the window… all we need is Arijit Singh playing in the background.”
“I do not have sad eyes.”
“You do,” Maahira insisted. “Very tragic, heroine-waiting-for-lover energy.”
Aarohi groaned and buried her face in her hands. If only Maahira knew how accurate that was.
The day she missed the bus, she had half expected him to walk in after her every time the bus doors opened. Even though she knew that’s not how buses worked. Even though she knew he probably didn’t even care that she’d missed that ride.
But she couldn’t shake the image of him sitting there alone, glancing up…
And realizing she wasn’t coming.
Her stomach twisted.
Maahira suddenly snapped her fingers. “OH! Speaking of tragic reunions, did you hear? Our school batch reunion is happening next month.”
Aarohi froze.
“What reunion?”
“You know,” Maahira said, pulling up Instagram. “Ten years. People already posting. Some group is planning it at that café near the old school.”
Aarohi’s heartbeat stuttered.
School.
Her brain immediately threw up one face.
Him.
She swallowed. “I didn’t know.”
“Come,” Meera said dramatically. “It’ll be fun. We’ll see who got married, who got rich, who got bald. Very entertaining.”
Aarohi laughed weakly but her mind was already racing.
Would he be there? Would he pretend he didn’t know her?
Would he act different without the bus… the routine… the closeness?
The thought made her chest feel tight.
By the time work ended, her nerves were shredded.
She reached the bus stop early, pacing in small circles, checking her phone every few seconds like a message might magically appear.
Nothing.
She forced herself to sit on the bench, fingers twisting the hem of the hoodie. People came and went, umbrellas dripping, shoes splashing against puddles.
The wind picked up, cool and sharp.
What if he didn’t come? What if something had changed?
What if yesterday had meant more to her than to him?
Her thoughts spiraled so fast she barely noticed the bus pulling in. The doors hissed open. People climbed aboard.
She stood slowly, heart pounding. When she stepped inside, her eyes went straight to the back row.
He wasn’t there.
Her heart dropped like someone had cut the strings holding it up.
She moved down the aisle anyway, clinging to hope like an idiot.
Maybe he got off early.
Maybe he was standing.
Maybe—
“Aarohi.”
She jumped.
He was sitting one row ahead, hood up head tilted toward her. Today’s hoodie was different. It was olive green, softer-looking, sleeves pushed slightly back, revealing strong wrists and a faint scar along his forearm she’d never noticed.
Her breath caught.
He nudged the empty seat beside him.
Relief flooded her so hard she nearly laughed.
She slid in next to him trying not to look like she’d just survived an emotional earthquake.
“You okay?” he asked quietly, studying her face.
“Long day,” she managed.
He nodded, gaze lingering. “Thought you might not come today.”
Her heart did a somersault.
“Why?” she asked trying to sound casual.
He shrugged, looking out the window. “People disappear sometimes.”
It was said lightly, but something in his tone made her chest ache.
She wanted to tell him she had waited that day. That she had thought about him more than she should have. That missing the bus had felt like missing him.
Instead, she said, “I’m not disappearing.”
His jaw relaxed, and for a moment, he looked like he might smile. But then his phone buzzed.
He glanced at the screen.
His entire expression shifted, it was subtle, but she caught it.
A tightening around the eyes.
A small sigh.
A hesitation before replying.
That same sick twist of jealousy returned, sharp and unwelcome.
She tried to look away, but her voice slipped out before she could stop it.
“Who keeps texting you?”
He froze.
For a second, neither of them breathed.
Then he locked his phone and shoved it into his pocket.
“No one important,” he said.
But the way he said it… felt like a lie.
Silence settled between them, heavier than before.
Outside, the city lights blurred, reflecting in rain-slick streets. The bus creaked and swayed, but neither moved.
Finally, he spoke.
“There’s a reunion happening,” he said quietly.
Her head snapped toward him.
“You know about it?”
“Someone messaged me,” he said gaze unreadable. “Are you going?”
She opened her mouth.
She didn’t know.
The thought of seeing him there, around other people, in a different context, terrified her. What if he pretended she was just a stranger? What if he treated her like she didn’t matter?
“I… might,” she said.
He nodded slowly. “Then I will too.”
Her breath caught.
Before she could respond, the bus slowed.
Her stop.
She stood, pulling her tote bag closer. For a moment, she looked down at him, something soft flickered across his face.
“See you tomorrow,” he murmured.
Then she stepped off.
Aarohi stared after the bus, heart racing.
Tomorrow.
Reunion.
No one important.
Everything tangled together inside her, messy and overwhelming.
But one thing was clear:
Something was shifting.
And she wasn’t ready.
Not at all.
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