That evening, the city looked like it was carrying too many people and too many unfinished thoughts at once.
Ronda sat by the bus window with her bag on her lap and the pulse in her throat refusing to settle. Outside, traffic dragged under tired light. Hawkers moved between vehicles with trays balanced on their heads and frustration already written into their mouths. Conductors shouted destinations. A child cried somewhere in the row behind her, then stopped so suddenly it almost felt suspicious.
None of it stayed with her.
Her mind had narrowed itself around one thing.
Tonight, she would stop leaving it half-said.
That thought should have made her feel brave.
Instead, it made her feel exposed.
Because there was a difference between knowing something privately and speaking it where
