Samantha Mae

Michael stared.

A girl had just stepped onto the bus as it pulled over at a stop—nothing unusual. She was wearing a red plaid skirt and a black sweater, with her long hair falling in a curtain over her shoulder to conceal her face, and he could tell she was quite pretty.

But when she looked up, searching for somewhere to sit, he saw that her eyes were rimmed with red.

Michael's chest tightened. There was such pain in her eyes, he could feel it as if it were a physical force binding up his heart. What could possibly have made her so upset?

Not wanting the girl to feel self-conscious, Michael averted his gaze as she started up the steps toward the back of the bus, collapsing into the seat in front of him as if her legs were too weak to hold her.

Glancing furtively around at the other passengers, Michael felt a wave of relief as he saw the phones and books in their laps. For some reason, he didn't want anyone else to see the girl's anguish.

As the bus revved its engine and pulled back out into the road, Michael thought he heard the whisper of a shaky breath. The girl's sweater bunched up slightly as she sank down further in her seat, burying her head in her hands. Her shoulders began to tremble.

Michael's heart sank.

Here she was, a stranger he had no right to comfort, shoulders shaking with silent sobs—and he could do nothing to alleviate her pain.

As the bus slowed to a stop at a set of traffic lights, the girl slowly straightened, pulling her sleeve over her hand and dragging it across her face. Michael watched, conflicted, as she took slow breaths.

Slightly more composed, she pulled out her phone.

In his concern for her, Michael didn't even have the presence of mind to look away as she entered her password, and the number spun in his head long after her phone had unlocked.

2-0-1-0.

He knew it was stupid, but he wondered what it meant to her. Was it her birthday? Her post code? What made the number important?

For him, 2010 was the year his best friend left for Korea.

Michael's vision glazed over as he remembered watching Sam step into the plane terminal, walking backwards to wave at Michael until they could no longer see each other. Michael spent the next half hour staring at Sam's plane, praying that a storm would come, or the pilot wouldn't, so the plane wouldn't have to take off and he and Sam could still be together.

But right on schedule, the plane rose into the sky, and Michael was alone.

That was ten years ago.

Michael was dragged from his memories as the bus swayed, causing sunlight to flash in his eyes as it reflected off the girl's phone.

A green message bubble on her screen caught his eye before he could look away, and Michael felt a pang in his chest. It read, "Please don't go."

The contact at the top of her screen said "My idiot brother."

That must be why she was crying. Where was he going?

Michael shifted in his seat, leaning forward surreptitiously while simultaneously wondering what on earth he was doing. Why was he so invested in this girl's struggle?

Perhaps he felt an affinity with her. Michael knew well the pain of being left behind.

The girl's phone pinged, and a grey message popped up beneath hers.