Chapter 14
1634 Words
✨ Where Roads Overlapped ✨
Nasir POV
Nasir Darven did not like unfinished places.
They made him uneasy—not because they were dangerous, but because they were undecided. Towns like this one sat between becoming something and being forgotten entirely. Half-paved roads. Buildings patched instead of rebuilt. Progress that hesitated, then stopped.
And yet people lived here.
They always did.
He stood across the street from the bus stop, coat buttoned against the morning chill, posture relaxed enough to appear idle.
Anyone looking would have assumed he was waiting. For transport. For a contact. For nothing at all.
In truth, his business had already concluded.
Quietly. Efficiently. Permanently.
The man he’d come to see would not be opening his shop this morning. Or any morning after that. The debt—financial and otherwise—had been settled, and Nasir had been careful, as always, to leave no mess that could be traced back to him.
He should have left town already.
Instead, he lingered.
The bus stop was unimpressive: a crooked sign, a bench with one loose board, dust clinging to everything as if it had learned to expect neglect. Nasir’s gaze swept it once, then dismissed it—
And then returned.
A girl sat alone on the bench.
At first glance, she didn’t belong there.
Not in the obvious ways—her clothes were plain enough, worn but clean. Shoes scuffed.
Hair pulled back too tightly, like she didn’t trust it not to betray her. But there was something about the way she held herself that set her apart.
Too still.
Like prey that had learned stillness before it learned safety.
Nasir watched without moving.
She sat with her hands folded in her lap, back straight, eyes fixed forward as if looking anywhere else might invite attention. Every few seconds, her shoulders tightened, then eased, then tightened again. A rhythm born of vigilance, not patience.
Fear, he noted.
Not the loud kind. The disciplined kind.
That intrigued him.
Most people waiting for buses were bored.
Irritated. Distracted. This girl looked like she was bracing for impact.
The bus arrived with a tired hiss of brakes.
Nasir didn’t intend to board it.
He’d planned to leave by car. Already had the route mapped in his head. Already calculating the fastest way out of a place he no longer needed.
But then the girl stood.
She hesitated before stepping forward, glancing once—just once—over her shoulder.
Only for a second.
But Nasir saw it.
The movement was instinctive, unthinking.
The kind of glance that came from expecting someone to be there.
No one was.
Something shifted in Nasir’s chest.
Interest, he corrected himself immediately.
Nothing more.
She climbed onto the bus, fumbled briefly with her pass, then took a seat by the window, folding into herself as if trying to occupy as
little space as possible.
Nasir found his feet moving before his mind had fully approved the decision.
He stepped onto the bus behind her without deciding to.
The interior smelled of dust and old fabric.
Nasir took a seat a few rows back, angled just enough that he could see her reflection in the window without appearing to look at her directly.
Nasir noticed the change before he noticed the tears.
It was the way her shoulders folded inward, as if the bus had grown colder around her alone. The way her hand rose, hesitated, then pressed flat against the glass—not to look out, but to steady herself.
She did not sob.
She did not make a sound.
Her face stayed composed in the way people learned when noise was dangerous. But her breath slipped once—sharp, shallow—and her reflection betrayed her. Her eyes shone, unfocused. Wet.
Nasir’s fingers tightened around the rail.
This was unfamiliar territory.
He had seen women cry before—loudly, angrily, strategically. Tears were often currency. Often a means to an end. He had learned long ago how to remain untouched by them.
This was not that.
Her tears did not ask for anything.
They fell silently, one at a time, tracing slow paths down her cheek. She wiped them away quickly with the sleeve of her sweater, embarrassed by even that small evidence.
Her chin lifted stubbornly, as if daring herself not to break.
Something shifted in his chest.
It was not pity.
It was not desire.
It was irritation—sharp, sudden, misplaced.
Not at her.
At whatever had done this.
Nasir exhaled slowly, grounding himself. He told his body to stand down. This reaction was impractical. Emotional responses blurred judgment, and he had built his life on precision.
Still, his gaze softened without permission.
He watched the way she angled her body away from the aisle, protecting herself from people who were not even looking at her.
He watched how she pressed her lips together, willing the tears to stop.
They didn’t.
The bus hit a pothole. She flinched.
That did it.
The emotion rose again—hotter this time.
Protective. Instinctive. Completely uninvited.
Nasir frowned faintly, unsettled by himself.
This is strange, he thought.
He did not know her name. Did not know her story. She was no one to him.
And yet—
Her fragility moved him.
His eyes followed her reflection on the glass window only the aftermath remained—the stiffness, the controlled breathing, the way she avoided eye contact with the world.
Nasir pressed his thumb against his palm, grounding himself.
This—this—was not like him.
He had come for business.
He had stayed for something else entirely.
And for the first time in a very long while, Nasir Darven did not immediately understand his own reaction.
That troubled him.
And lingered.
He continued to watch her as she watched everything now.
She watched everything.
Not with curiosity—with assessment.
Buildings. People. Signs. As if each one needed to be catalogued for threat or safety.
Her eyes lingered on a large stone building they passed—dark, imposing, out of place—and her reaction was immediate.
Panic.
It flared across her face before she could suppress it. A sharp intake of breath. Fingers curling against the edge of the seat. Her body leaned away from the window, then crept back toward it, unable to help herself.
Nasir frowned slightly.
That wasn’t a normal response.
She looked like someone who had learned that structures could hurt you. That authority had weight. That size meant danger.
Interesting.
The bus rolled on.
One town faded behind them. Then another began to take shape ahead—slightly larger, marginally more alive. The girl didn’t relax. If anything, her tension deepened.
She pressed her forehead briefly to the glass, eyes closing, as if grounding herself.
Running, Nasir thought.
Not traveling. Not wandering.
Running.
He knew that posture. Had worn it himself once, long ago, before he learned how to move without looking chased.
The bus stopped. People got off. Others climbed on.
She didn’t move.
Neither did he.
When the bus pulled away again, something settled into place inside Nasir—a quiet, decisive click.
He would stay on.
Just a little longer.
Two towns out, the landscape changed.
Fields opened up. Space widened. The road straightened. The girl’s shoulders loosened a fraction, as if distance itself offered relief. She wiped her face with her sleeve, then seemed embarrassed by the act, glancing around quickly to see if anyone had noticed.
Nasir looked away.
Not out of kindness. Out of instinct.
Predators who stared too long spooked the wrong kind of prey.
The bus slowed at another stop—this one quieter, less defined. The girl stirred, then froze. Her hand hovered near the strap of her bag. She glanced at the door. Then at the road ahead.
Indecision warred across her face.
For a brief, startling moment, Nasir thought she might bolt back down the aisle and off the bus. Thought he might see the precise instant fear won.
But she stayed.
The bus hissed. Doors opened. Closed.
It moved on.
Nasir exhaled without realizing he’d been holding his breath.
Why did that matter?
He told himself it didn’t.
When she finally stood, it was with the careful deliberation of someone stepping onto unfamiliar ground. She adjusted her bag, waited for the bus to stop fully, then descended the steps with a stiffness that suggested she was bracing for impact.
Nasir waited.
Counted three seconds.
Then followed.
The town she’d chosen was smaller. Quieter.
A place people passed through rather than arrived at. He recognized it immediately—not by name, but by feel.
A place to disappear.
She stood there after the bus left, dust settling around her shoes, uncertainty radiating off her like heat. For a moment, she
looked so young it made something in his chest twist uncomfortably.
She scanned the street, clearly unsure where to go.
Nasir leaned against a post across the road, pretending to light a cigarette he had no intention of smoking. He watched as she took her first tentative steps forward, then paused, then continued again.
Every movement was a negotiation.
He had not intended to involve himself.
He had not planned to follow a girl off a bus.
And yet here he was, watching her vanish down a side street, knowing—with an odd certainty—that this was not a coincidence.
Some meetings announced themselves loudly.
Others slipped quietly into your life and rearranged it without permission.
Nasir crushed the unlit cigarette between his fingers and straightened.
He did not follow her immediately.
Not yet.
But as he began walking in the same direction, one thought surfaced unbidden and unwelcome:
This girl is going to change something.
He didn’t yet know whether that change would be dangerous.
Or inevitable.
- Writer
