DANIEL
I'm late.
Like really late.
My bag is half-zipped, my shoelace is untied, and my mom is yelling something about breakfast that I absolutely do not have time for.
I sprint out of the gate just as the school bus pulls away.
"No— NO— WAIT—" I shout, running full speed like I'm in some dramatic movie.
My lungs are on fire.
My dignity is gone.
And then—
I see her.
She's standing near the back of the bus, holding onto the metal bar, sunlight hitting her face like it's planned. Her hair is slightly messy, like she rushed too. She's laughing at something her friend says, and it's the kind of laugh that makes my brain completely forget how legs work.
The bus slows for a speed bump.
I run faster.
She looks out the window.
Our eyes meet.
Just for a second.
Her smile fades into surprise, then curiosity.
And me?
I trip.
Almost face-plant.
She lets out a small laugh and covers her mouth — not mean, not mocking — just... amused.
My face goes hot instantly.
I finally reach the bus door, breathless, hands on my knees. The conductor sighs dramatically but lets me on.
As I step inside, I feel it — that weird, fluttery feeling in my chest like something important just happened.
I glance up.
She's still looking at me.
When our eyes meet again, she quickly looks away.
Blushing.
Which makes me blush harder.
I take the first empty seat, heart pounding louder than the engine.
I don't know her name.
I don't know her class.
I don't even know why my heart is doing this stupid thing.
But as the bus pulls away and the morning light fills the windows, I know one thing for sure:
Running late might be the best thing that's ever happened to me.