I didn't expect to see him again.
That was the lie I told myself—over and over—until it felt almost true.
College had begun weeks ago. New buildings, unfamiliar faces, a different rhythm to my days. I stayed at home for my degree, convincing myself it was practical, that it made sense. But somewhere beneath those reasons lived a quieter hope: maybe our paths would cross again.
They didn't.
Not at first.
A month passed without even a glimpse of him. I told myself he must have moved cities for higher studies. People did that. Life went on. And yet, every morning, as I boarded the bus, my eyes searched without permission.
Until one ordinary morning refused to remain ordinary.
The bus stop was crowded—students, office workers, the usual chaos. I stepped forward, half-asleep, fishing for my pass, when something made me stop.
Someone was standing there.
Not facing me. Not looking for me.
Just… there.
My heart reacted before my mind did.
No, I thought. This is stupid.I blinked hard, certain my eyes were playing tricks on me. I had imagined him before—in crowds, in reflections, in dreams that clung to me even after waking.
I looked again.
He turned.
And stared straight at me.
The world narrowed to that single moment.
The noise faded. The people blurred. There was only the sharp pull of recognition—too real, too immediate to be illusion.
It was him.
Not a memory. Not a ghost.
Him.
For a second, neither of us moved. We just stared, like we'd both been caught trespassing in a moment we weren't prepared for.
Then reality snapped back into place.
I looked away first, my pulse thundering so loudly I was sure everyone could hear it. Get a grip, I scolded myself. You're not sixteen anymore.
But when I dared to glance back—
He was still watching.
That was when I knew.
This wasn't accidental.
From that day on, he was there every morning.
Same bus stop. Same time.
Like it had always been that way.
He sat at the back of the bus with his friends. I sat at the front with mine. My friend always saved me a seat, unaware she was also saving me from turning around too often.
I pretended to look for the conductor.
Pretended to check the road.
Pretended to adjust my bag.
Every excuse was really just a reason to look at him.
Sometimes our eyes met.
Sometimes they didn't.
And sometimes—this was the strangest part—I would look back, find nothing… and then suddenly feel his gaze on me, as if he'd been watching all along.
He didn't know anything about my life now.
He didn't know how much I'd changed.
He didn't know how carefully I'd rebuilt myself after losing him without ever having him.
And yet, there he was.
So close.
So unreachable.
One morning, we passed each other on the pavement. Close enough that I caught the faint scent of his cologne—something deeper than I remembered.
We almost spoke.
I felt it. The breath before a word.
Then my friends stepped between us, laughing, dragging me forward, and the moment shattered like glass.
All we managed was a smile.
Not friendly.
Not distant.
Something unfinished.
That was when the truth settled into my chest, heavy and undeniable:
This wasn't a coincidence anymore.
Fate had given me time.Fate had given me proximity.
And I had no idea what I was supposed to do with it.
Because I wasn't the girl I used to be.
And he—he looked like someone who no longer waited for things to happen.
As the bus pulled away, I watched him through the window, my reflection overlapping his face.
For the first time, the thought didn't comfort me.
What if this chance wasn't a gift…
but a test?