Justin sank into the worn leather seat, the hum of the engine vibrating through the bus. His guitar rested on his lap, but he wasn’t playing—just staring out the window at the passing blur of city lights.

A soft shuffle beside him made him glance over. You were half-curled in the seat, headphones around your neck, sketching something in a notebook. He watched the way your fingers moved, precise and calm, and felt the tension in his shoulders ease a little.

He strummed a random chord, testing the silence. It felt like a confession he didn’t know how to voice, each note heavier than the last. You glanced up briefly, a small smile tugging at your lips, and that alone made him falter.

Hours slipped by in quiet companionship, broken only by the occasional laugh when someone in the band shouted from the front. Justin felt something shift—a warmth he didn’t want to name, but couldn’t ignore.

When the bus slowed near the next stop, he realized he’d been staring at you longer than he intended. He plucked one final note and let it hang, thinking maybe some confessions didn’t need words.