The next evening, Aarohi left home early.
Ridiculously early.
She kept telling herself it was practical but as she walked the truth sat heavy in her chest.
She wanted to see him.
She wanted that tiny moment when the doors opened and his eyes found hers. That warmth she felt even when they barely spoke.
Her fingers brushed the sleeve of the hoodie she wore, his hoodie which was very soft and slightly oversized, the fabric brushing her thighs as she walked. It still carried the faintest hint of rain and soap and something that felt like safety.
She tried not to think about how she’d slept with it tucked under her arm the night before.
When she reached the stop, the bus was already pulling in. Her heart leapt relief surging through her as she hurried forward.
Maybe he was already there.
Maybe he’d look up.
Maybe....
Her steps slowed as she climbed in.
Empty.
Not literally as people filled the seats in scattered clusters but the space she always scanned first was stark and blank. The back row next to the window where he always sat.
Her breath caught.
Maybe she hadn’t seen properly.
She walked farther in, pretending to look for a seat, eyes sweeping the aisle.
No hoodie.
No dark hair.
No familiar gaze waiting for her.
Her stomach dropped.
She slid into a seat near the middle, the disappointment settling like a weight. The bus moved forward, but everything felt muted, dull, like the colors of the city outside had been desaturated.
She told herself it didn’t matter.
She barely knew him.
They’d exchanged maybe ten conversations. A handful of smiles. A hoodie.
God, she sounded insane.
She pressed her forehead lightly against the cold glass, whispering under her breath,
“Get over it, Aarohi.”
But the ache didn’t budge.
The next evening she arrived even earlier.
The stop was almost empty, the streetlights flickering against puddles from a passing drizzle. She stood bouncing lightly on her toes trying to stay warm and scanning the corner where the bus always appeared first.
Her breath clouded in the chilly air.
This time. He’d be here this time.
She heard the engine before she saw the headlights. Her heart hammered.
The bus rolled in.
She stepped forward. Doors opened with a hiss. Her eyes darted instantly to the back.
Nothing.
Her chest tightened painfully.
She forced herself into a seat, fingers curling into the hoodie sleeves. The familiar hum of the engine felt wrong without him there, like the rhythm was missing a beat.
She hated how easily this affected her. Why did it feel like someone had pulled the floor out from under her? Why did his absence feel louder than his presence ever had?
At home, she tossed her bag down with frustration burning under her skin.
This was ridiculous.
She barely knew him.
They weren’t friends. They weren’t anything.
So why did her evenings suddenly feel… incomplete?
Her phone buzzed.
It was Her best friend.
Are you alive?
She stared at the screen for a long moment before typing back: Yeah. Just tired.
A few seconds later another message popped up: Tired or thinking about Bus Boy? 👀
Aarohi groaned, flopping back onto her bed. He wasn’t there today.
OH MY GOD you sound like a heartbroken wife whose husband missed dinner
She threw the phone aside, burying her face in the pillow.
Maybe she was acting dramatic. Maybe it was the routine, the comfort of having someone familiar in an unfamiliar city.
Maybe she was projecting.
Or maybe.... Maybe she liked him.
The thought hit her with the force of a wave, stealing her breath.
She liked him.
A boy she barely talked to. A boy she hadn’t spoken to in years. A boy she hadn’t even remembered from school until recently.
Was she losing her mind?
The next day she did not rush.
She told herself she wouldn’t check the time obsessively. She wouldn’t stand by the window like some lovesick character from a bad romance novel.
She’d go when she went.
And if he wasn’t there, then fine. She was fine. Totally fine.
She reached the stop just as a bus pulled away.
Her heart beat increased.
That could’ve been his bus.
What if he was on it, looking for her? What if he thought she wasn’t coming anymore? What if he—
She squeezed her eyes shut.
Stop.
Stop thinking like this.
She sat down on the cold bench hugging herself through the hoodie. The fabric felt heavier today, like a reminder of something she wasn’t allowed to want.
Twenty minutes passed.
Then thirty.
Finally, another bus approached.
Her pulse spiked.
She stood.
The doors opened.
She looked in.
Empty seat.
No Arjun.
The disappointment hit sharper this time, like a bruise being pressed.
She sat near the window, staring out without seeing anything. Thoughts churned relentlessly.
Maybe he’d changed his schedule.
Maybe he’d gotten sick.
Maybe he’d decided the bus thing was stupid.
Maybe he’d realized she was getting attached.
The last thought made her stomach twist.
Had she made it obvious?
Did he think she was clingy?
Desperate?
Her cheeks burned with embarrassment.
She sagged back into the seat, whispering to herself,
“What is wrong with me?”
When she reached home, she couldn’t focus on anything.
She paced.
She scrolled.
She tried reading.
Nothing helped.
Finally, she grabbed her phone and typed:
Are you coming tomorrow?
She stared at the message, horrified.
Delete. Delete. Delete.
Her thumb hovered.
Then she tossed the phone away like it had burned her.
She wasn’t that girl.
She refused to be that girl.
Later that night, while brushing her teeth, her phone buzzed.
Her heart shot into her throat.
She rinsed, sprinted to the bed, grabbed it—
Not him.
Her cousin, sending memes.
Aarohi let out a breath .
She collapsed backward, covering her face with her hands.
This wasn’t normal.
This wasn’t healthy.
How had a few shared bus rides turned her into this?
She fell asleep wearing his hoodie again, curled around the fabric like it could anchor her.
Her last thought was a small, terrified whisper in her own mind:
What if he never comes back?
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