The next day, I took the same bus, hoping to see him again.
But he didn't come.
Days passed. College life went on—classes, gossip sessions, and K-dramas with Xin, Ling, and Meng. Some professors bored us with stories about their past jobs instead of the actual syllabus. Especially one former HR-turned-professor, who could talk nonstop for an hour and teach only in the last five minutes.
But every evening, I took that same bus.
And slowly… I pieced together his pattern. He always got on at the next stop after mine.
I began adjusting my routine—calculating timings, picking specific buses—just for a glimpse of him.
Sometimes he came. Sometimes he didn't.
But whenever he did, my heart leapt.
Once, the bus was so crowded that I had to stand. He was right beside me. As people pushed, I found myself accidentally pressed against his chest. His first three shirt buttons were open, and I couldn't even turn my head without seeing his collarbone. I was so embarrassed I wanted the earth to swallow me whole. But he was calm, completely unfazed.
Another time, he stood behind me. I could feel his presence so close, I froze on the spot.
Then came the day I sat beside him.
I memorized everything—his long fingers, the black ring on his hand, the faint veins on his arm, the way he leaned forward with tired eyes from screen time.
He left a deep imprint on me… without ever saying a single word.
At first, my friends knew nothing. But one day during lunch, I asked if they had ever experienced love at first sight. Ling smiled and shared her story, and we all squealed like teenagers at a concert. That's when I finally confessed mine.
They teased me, fangirled with me, and supported my silent obsession like true soulmates.
Later, I met another girl at the bus stop—Xun Yue. She became my regular bus partner and partner-in-crime. We laughed about gym uncles, joked about random passengers, and soon, she too knew about my crush. Her savage humor made even the most stressful days lighter.
Despite all this, I never learned his name.
Never heard his voice.
He came and went like seasons—sometimes appearing like spring, sometimes disappearing like winter.
One time, during exams, I saw him standing close to me on the bus. My heart was pounding, but I played it cool. Even when I accidentally bumped into him or leaned against him in the crowd, I never dared to speak.
It was all one-sided.
Pure. Silent. Beautiful.
I made excuses to ride specific buses, calculated timings like it was math homework, and stood under the same streetlights—just hoping to see him again.
Even when my logical brain whispered, What if he's married? What if he's not who you imagine him to be?
My heart ignored it all.
He became a quiet part of my routine.
A moment of peace I never got tired of.
And then… he stopped showing up.
Even when I saw him again months later—just a glimpse, a glance—he was distant.
My heart hoped.
But he never came back.
I never knew his name.
Never knew where he worked or lived.
But somehow, he brought calm to my chaos.
Even without a word, he made my heart still.
And that… was enough.
Whenever I stood near him, I felt safe.
He vanished like smoke in the wind—
But left behind a scent I still can't forget.