The Bus Ride

The seat numbers put them together 11C and 11D, the bus itself had decided before either of them had a say. She checked her seat, while he was already sat on his. They sat next to each other, initially in oblivion, for what was to come in the next hours. They didn’t talk. Not really. A polite nod, a settling into seats, and then the quiet hum of a bus pulling out.

Her phone lit up first a message from a friend, something that made her smile without meaning to. He caught it from the corner of his eye, the way her mouth curved before she could stop it, and he smiled too, at nothing, just at the fact of her smiling.

She noticed him noticing. She didn’t lock her screen.

He glanced down at his own phone, scrolled to a photo, an intimate one, something he exchanged with his partner, about making her wet and let it linger a beat longer than necessary, angled just slightly her way. Not quite an offering. Not quite an accident either.

Her eyes flicked over. A pause. Then she typed something to her friend, quick, and turned her screen so the glow caught the edge of his vision.

It became a rhythm without rules. A photo held a second too long. A message typed and deleted and retyped, her thumb hovering like she wanted an audience for the editing. He found a photo, then a text and he didn’t even try to hide that one, neither did she — just let their phone sit tilted towards each other, an invitation disguised as carelessness. Invitation to break into each other as they found each other to be nice persons. It matters as both found this moment something unpredictable.

At times he leaned in, just slightly, to see better, exposed to his eyes. The bus hit a bump and their elbows knocked together — a small, electric collision, gone as fast as it came. Neither moved away. Neither moved closer. Touch comes from consent, and it should be respected that way.

Her thumb hovered over her the pictures she was part of. Her own pictures with flowers, he wanted to comment, on her hairs and eyes. He read the texts, she was sending to her lover. Quite saucy and raunchy!!
He nodded slowly, mouthed nice, no sound needed. 

The whole ride became a conversation made of glances and glowing screens, of typed words never sent to each other but somehow understood anyway. Curiosity thickened between them, warm and unhurried, filling the space their hands did not. It felt like touching without asking and some things needed permission first, even questions. 

But, by this time, he was hard and for sure she was wet. Both had pre-cum on their genitalia, sticky, wet fluids making them somewhat crazy. Yet, they both showed restraint, even though their mind wanted to act.

Then eventually the bus slowed. His stop came. He stood, looked at her. Their eyes held a second longer than strangers’ should, full of things typed and shown and never once said aloud, nods exchanged. 

He knew, he was going to reach out to her, find her again. He must. 

But, the strangers world is strange, our mind, fear and emotions are hard to predict and contain. To find safety is first and foremost, only then the life may give another chance.