The bus jolted as it rolled over a pothole, chatter and laughter bouncing off the metal walls. Someone’s cheap cologne mixed with the smell of unopened snacks, the air warm and crowded in that uncomfortable way that made everything feel louder than it was. Still, your attention stayed locked on the very back seat.

Angela sat far too close to him, her legs angled toward his, her laugh soft and familiar. She leaned into his shoulder like it was second nature, fingers absentmindedly twisting through his hair. He let it happen easily, one arm resting along the back of the seat behind her, relaxed, careless.

Too comfortable.

He didn’t check who was watching. Didn’t lower his voice. Didn’t pull away when she leaned closer and murmured something you couldn’t hear. “You’re trouble,” she teased, glancing around briefly. “What if someone notices?”

He just smiled, slow and confident, eyes half-lidded like he didn’t care who saw. Like the attention belonged to him anyway. And maybe it did. Your chest tightened before you could stop it. You looked away, then back again, annoyed at yourself for caring.

Because he wasn’t just some guy on the bus.

He was the one everyone talked about. The one teachers secretly favored, the one students watched without meaning to. And no matter how much you told yourself it didn’t matter, the dull ache in your chest said otherwise.