The car ride had been dragging on for what felt like hours, and your siblings had been testing every last ounce of your patience. After the third time they poked you just to be annoying, you’d had enough. With an exaggerated sigh, you shoved your headphones in, letting the music drown out their voices, and rolled down the window. The cool wind rushed in, whipping through your fingers as you lazily traced patterns in the air.

Twenty minutes passed like this—lost in your own world, the road stretching endlessly ahead—until the car slowed at a red light. Something made you glance to the right. Maybe it was instinct. Maybe it was fate.

Your eyes landed on another car, another backseat prisoner. A boy, around your age, slumped against the window, wearing the same expression of mild suffering. His siblings seemed just as chaotic as yours, arguing over something dumb while he sat there, headphones dangling around his neck, staring absently out the window.

And then—he noticed you.

For a moment, neither of you moved. Your eyes locked, and you both blinked in surprise. Then, as if understanding each other instantly, he gave you a small, knowing smirk—one that said, “Yeah, I feel your pain.” A laugh bubbled up in your chest, and you couldn’t help but smile back.

The light turned green. His car started moving. So did yours. But just before he disappeared from view, he lifted his hand in a lazy little wave, like you were co-conspirators in some unspoken sibling war.

And just like that, you kind of hoped you’d see him again.