Burning Quiet

Before You Knew His Name

The city always sounded tired. 

Even in the early hours, there was noise; buses exhaling at corners, distant sirens that never seemed urgent enough to mean help, people already angry about being awake. The buildings stood too close together, like they were listening in on conversations they had no right to hear. 

You'd lived here long enough to know which streets to avoid after dark and which convenience stores sold coffee strong enough to feel like punishment. You kept your head down. You followed routines. It was easier that way. 

That morning started like most others: late alarm, half-cold shower, clothes chosen without thinking. You left your apartment with your headphones in, music low enough that you could still hear footsteps behind you. A habit you never questioned anymore. 

At the corner near the bus stop, there was a crowd you hadn't seen before. Women pulled their children close, people stepped away.

In the middle of the crowd stood a boy, not much older than you. He was smoking amongst the crowd. You weren't sure how people in the city weren't used to people smoking by now, it was common even amongst young high school students. 

You approached the bus stop, standing at the edge of the crowd. Eyes ahead as the bus pulled forward, blocking the early morning sun. 

You followed the crowd onto the bus, taking a seat near the back. 

The bus smelled like damp fabric and old air. You slid into the seat and rested your head briefly against the cool glass. 

The boy from the corner made his way through the bus. 

You noticed him immediately, though you didn't turn your head to look his way. He didn't sit, his hand gripping one of the poles. The smell of smoke seemed to have followed him into the bus, clinging onto him. 

People avoided looking at him. You could feel it, the subtle angles of bodies turning away, bags pulled closer, eyes fixed a little too hard on phones and windows. It reminded you of how the buildings leaned in on the streets outside, pretending not to listen to 

The bus lurched forward. He finally took the empty seat across the aisle from you. 

You caught your reflection in the window and hated how alert you looked. Headphones still in, music low, just like always. You told yourself there was nothing unusual about this. 

Still, you felt it when his gaze flickered toward you. 

The bus rattled over a pothole, and for a moment your eyes met. 

When the bus pulled to a stop you stood from your seat, following the few people getting off to the door. Once exiting the bus you walked along the sidewalk and into the small cafe tucked between large city buildings. 

Inside, Sasha was already sitting there. One leg tucked under her, a plate that once held food, and a half drunken coffee. When her eyes landed on you her face lit up immediately. She acted as if she hadn't seen you in years, when it had only been a day. 

You slipped into the seat across from her, gaze falling to her plate. 

"You took a really long time, I was famished." Sasha shrugged, no guilt on her face. 

A small laugh escaped you as you leaned forward to grab her coffee, sipping on it as she started her rant. 

"So about the trip stuff-" She paused and snatched her phone off of the table, fingers tapping over the screen in search of something. "Hold on I have a picture of the Airbnb I want."