Before the Last Bus Leaves

Chapter One: The Missed Bus

It started with rain.

Not the soft kind that whispers on rooftops. This one was loud — angry, wild, the kind that soaks through clothes and drips into your soul. The kind that turns traffic into chaos and bus stops into shelters for the unlucky.

And today, I was the unlucky one.

I checked my phone again.
9:43 PM.
The last bus home was already gone.

I let out a sigh and hugged my bag tighter. Everyone else had either gotten into a tuk-tuk or had someone to call. I didn't. My mother was asleep by now, and my father—well, he hadn't called in months.

"Looks like you're stuck too," said a voice behind me.

I turned.

He stood there in a black hoodie, hair damp from the rain, holding an old camera in one hand and a packet of cream crackers in the other.

"What gave it away?" I said, half-smiling.

"The look of pure defeat," he grinned, breaking the crackers in half and offering me one. I took it, mostly out of curiosity.

"Do you usually feed strangers at bus stops?" I asked.

He shrugged. "Only the ones who look like they've forgotten how to smile."

I rolled my eyes, but he had a warmth in his tone that made it hard to be annoyed.
"Don't get used to it. I don't usually smile at strangers either."

"Even better," he said, sitting down on the low cement ledge nearby. "I'm more of a one-night character anyway."

I frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I don't repeat people," he said, casually. "One night. One meeting. One memory. That's all I collect."

"Like a tourist?"

"More like... a passerby with a camera and bad timing."

The rain kept falling, and for a while, we said nothing. Just sat there, letting the silence stretch between us like the night sky.

I didn't know his name. He didn't ask for mine.

Maybe that's why it felt safe.

To be continued...