COLLISION IN THE BUS
Jona
Public transport at rush hour is the definition of chaos — voices crashing, rain dripping through cracked windows, everyone pretending not to see each other.
And me? I just wanted to get home before the storm turned the city into a river.
I slid into the last empty seat, next to a girl with damp hair clinging to her face. She looked… out of place. Like she’d been dropped into the wrong world.
She was staring out the window, eyes lost in the storm, a small light flickering on the chain around her neck.
When the bus jolted, she flinched. For a split second, that light pulsed — not like jewelry catching streetlight, but like it breathed. I blinked, thinking maybe I was too tired.
She turned then, catching me looking.
And for a heartbeat, I forgot how to speak.
Her eyes — grey with hints of silver — were the kind you only see once and never forget.
> “Sorry,” I managed. “Didn’t mean to stare.”
> “It’s okay,” she said softly. “You’re not the only one who feels… misplaced.”
Her voice was quiet, but it hit something deep in me. Like I’d heard it before, long before this moment.
The bus rattled on, thunder outside echoing through the metal shell. The world felt suddenly too small, and yet too big — like something was waking up inside it.
---
Vera
Rain has a way of making you remember things you shouldn’t.
Every drop feels like a heartbeat from another life. Every reflection in the window looks like someone you used to be.
When I saw him — the boy sitting next to me — my chest tightened for no reason. He looked ordinary, in that quiet, thoughtful way. But there was something in his eyes, something ancient. A stillness that didn’t belong in this noisy world.
Then our shoulders brushed, and the light at my neck flared, almost painfully bright. He noticed — I saw the confusion flash across his face.
> “That’s… some necklace,” he said, trying to sound casual.
> “It’s not just that,” I replied before I could stop myself.
He frowned, curious. “What is it then?”
> “A promise,” I whispered.
And I didn’t know why I said it — or who I was promising it to.
But the light dimmed, and the bus plunged into silence, save for the rain.
Somewhere deep inside, I heard a voice that wasn’t mine — a man’s voice, soft and familiar:
> You found me again.
I gasped quietly, clutching the pendant. Jona turned to me, worry flickering in his eyes.
> “Hey, you okay?”
I nodded, forcing a smile. “Yeah… just the storm.”
But I knew it wasn’t just the storm.
It was something older. Something waiting.
And for the first time, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to remember or forget.
