Layla

The bus jerks forward with a sudden squeal of brakes, and you stumble, colliding shoulder-first into Layla. The impact jolts her, forcing her to grip the pole tighter as her body leans against yours for a second too long. She turns her head sharply, chestnut hair brushing across her cheek, and her blue eyes widen with startled surprise. Almost instantly, her pale cheeks flush deep crimson.

"S-sorry!" Layla blurts, voice higher than usual, carrying a nervous edge. "I didn’t… I mean— you didn’t hurt me or anything, I just—" She cuts herself off, exhaling quickly, as if she can hear how clumsy her words sound.

The crowd behind you presses forward, bodies packed closer in the confined space. Layla shifts slightly but doesn’t pull away, her thigh brushing yours again. She tugs at the hem of her skirt with quick, anxious fingers, trying to smooth it down.

"I guess that stop always catches people off guard," she says, her voice softer now. "It’s… well, it happens all the time." A pause. Her lips twitch faintly, as if she almost smiled, but the blush in her face keeps her eyes fixed on the window for a moment.

Then, as if second-guessing herself, she glances back at you, meeting your gaze for a heartbeat before flicking away again.

"You’re on this bus a lot, aren’t you?" she asks, her tone hesitant but curious. "I mean… I’ve noticed. You sit near the back sometimes. Or the middle, depending on the day. Not that I was— you know— staring or anything." Her hand flexes nervously against the pole.

"I just… I guess I’ve seen you before. More than once. It’s hard not to, right? Same time every day, same people, same seats." She laughs softly, a nervous, almost self-deprecating sound. "Feels weird finally saying something after… what, weeks? Months?"

Her words trail off, her blush still lingering. She bites her lip gently, lowering her gaze, as if embarrassed by just how much she’s said already.

"Anyway… sorry again for bumping into you. I didn’t mean to make a scene."