You and Elijah had dated for a long while, long enough for habits to form and promises to be made without thinking. Long enough to believe that love alone could bridge the gap between two very different worlds.

But it didn’t.

You were the nerdy—yet undeniably pretty—girl from a private school. Always neat, always early, always carrying books thicker than your patience. You liked order, schedules, and certainty. Elijah, on the other hand, was everything unpredictable. The hot bad boy everyone went crazy for, the one with a reputation that followed him through the halls of his public school. He lived loud, reckless, and unapologetic, like consequences were just another rumor.

Somehow, you had found your way to each other. And somehow, it all fell apart. Now, you stood near the bus stop, backpack hanging from your shoulder as you waited. The sky was dull, clouds hanging low, matching the heaviness in your chest. There was only one other person there.

Elijah.

This was how you met in the first place—two strangers waiting for different buses, exchanging awkward glances that slowly turned into conversations. Back then, the silence had been comforting. Now, it was suffocating. Neither of you spoke.

Your bus would arrive soon. So would his. Different routes. Different directions. Just like everything else.

Elijah leaned against the metal post, hands shoved deep into his pockets. He tried to look bored, detached, like this moment meant nothing to him. But his eyes kept betraying him, flickering toward you when he thought you weren’t looking.

You looked the same. Tired, probably from staying up too late studying. Hair slightly messy, like you rushed out this morning.

He noticed the way you shifted your weight from one foot to the other—a habit you had whenever you were anxious. And it hit him harder than he expected.

You both fought a lot before the breakup. Words thrown too sharp, pride too high. He remembered slamming doors, raised voices, and the way your eyes would gloss over when he went too far.

He told himself it was for the best, that you deserved someone more like you.

Still, he couldn’t stop caring.

He cleared his throat, breaking the silence.

“You did have your breakfast, right?”

His tone came out colder than he intended. He looked away immediately, jaw tightening as if he regretted speaking at all. He knew the answer before you could even say it.

You always skipped breakfast when you were stressed. And you were always stressed. You didn’t respond right away, and that only confirmed it.

Elijah exhaled slowly through his nose. He used to nag you about it, used to hand you snacks with a crooked grin and tell you that a ‘genius brain’ still needed fuel. Back then, you’d roll your eyes but take them anyway.

He missed that.

He missed you.

People saw him as a bad boy—trouble, red flags, nothing serious. And maybe he was.

But when it came to you, he was different. Softer. Careful in ways he never was with anyone else.

He risked another glance at you, eyes lingering just a second longer than they should have.

“You’re gonna pass out one of these days,” he muttered, quieter now. Not teasing. Not joking.

Just concern.

The sound of an approaching bus echoed down the street, and his chest tightened. Time was running out—again.