Rayyan didn't see her again until the third day.
The morning was the same as always — quiet steps, buses pulling in with tired engines, the sky still pale with early light. Rayyan stood in line, half-awake, rehearsing formulas, preparing for his upcoming maths quiz. Then she boarded the bus.
Lisa.
She didn't look around. She didn't search for anyone. She simply took a seat by the window, set her bag on her lap, and rested her cheek against her hand.
The bus wasn't full yet.
Rayyan hesitated.
Then he walked forward and sat next to her.
Not behind her this time.
Beside her.
Lisa turned her head slightly. Their eyes met for just a moment.
Her voice was soft, barely above the hum of the bus.
"Morning."
Rayyan swallowed. "Morning."
The bus started moving.
For a while, they simply shared the quiet.
No small talk. No forced introductions. Just presence.
It wasn't comfortable. But it wasn't uncomfortable either.
It simply was.
After Class
At lunch, Rayyan sat alone in the cafeteria. He placed his notebook open in front of him — not to study, but to avoid looking lost.
Most students moved in groups. Their laughter filled the room easily.
Rayyan kept his head down, eating slowly, trying to make the meal last longer so it wouldn't look like he had no one.
Then, a shadow crossed the table.
Lisa placed a small paper bag in front of him.
"Bread," she said. "The bakery near the bus stop sells it for cheap in the mornings. Thought you might want some."
Rayyan blinked.
He didn't want handouts.
He didn't want pity.
But Lisa didn't look like she was giving pity.
She looked like someone who had also sat alone once.
Rayyan nodded. "Thank you."
She sat across from him, quietly, casually — as if this was the most natural thing in the world.
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then Lisa asked, "First time living away from home?"
Rayyan hesitated… then nodded.
"You?" he asked.
"Yes," she said softly. "But it doesn't feel very different from home."
Rayyan looked up.
There was something in her tone, something tired, like a story she wasn't going to tell yet.
He didn't ask.
Sometimes silence is the right form of kindness.
Later That Night
Rayyan walked back to his hostel room with the small bag of leftover bread still in his hand. The campus lights glowed like distant stars. Students passed him in pairs, in groups, in laughter.
He walked alone.
But it didn't feel as cold as before.
He sat at his desk and opened his notebook.
The pages looked messy — rushed notes, half-formed equations, scribbles from trying to keep pace.
But he looked at them differently tonight.
Not as proof of struggle.
But as proof he was trying.
He tore a piece of bread and ate it slowly.
Warm.
Soft.
Simple.
He exhaled.
For the first time since arriving here, the world didn't feel like it was pushing him to the ground.
But for tonight,
He felt like he could stand.