That wasn't all Raka began to realize. Since the incident at the bus stop, he'd begun to notice a small thing he'd never considered before: his house was in the same direction as Nayara's. They shared the same bus route. The green bus number 09.
This afternoon, Raka was standing again at the small bus stop in front of the school—the same bus stop where he'd first seen Nayara cry. His hair was still slightly damp, and the sweatshirt beneath his black jacket still had a hint of sweat on it.
Several minutes passed before footsteps approached.
Raka glanced over.
Nayara.
She was coming from the gate at a brisk pace. Her hair was neatly tied back, adorned with a white lily-of-the-valley hairpin. She wore a light gray jacket over her uniform, and in her right hand she still held a notebook with worn edges. Her breathing wasn't particularly rapid, but enough to indicate she was walking in a hurry.
Upon arriving at the bus stop, Nayara brushed a bit of dust from the hem of her jacket. Her eyes scanned the surroundings—and met Raka's. It was brief, but enough for both of them to realize they recognized each other.
Neither spoke.
Nayara lowered her head and pretended to be busy with her phone. Raka put in his earphones without turning on any music. The sound of the wind touching the tin roof filled the silence between them.
A few minutes later, bus 09 appeared at the end of the road. Its headlights bounced off the asphalt, creating moving shadows beneath their feet. The bus doors opened with a light metallic sound, and the humid air rushed in.
Nayara boarded first. She chose a seat on the right side, third row from the front. Her seat was near the window, where she usually sat to read. The bus wasn't very full—there were only a few other passengers, mostly students and office workers.
Raka followed, paid for his ticket, and then looked for a seat. He chose the left side opposite Nayara. From his position, he could see Nayara's face through the reflection of the window. He didn't look directly at her—only through the reflection.
The bus began to move slowly. The raindrops that had fallen again clung to the window glass, forming random streaks that slowly trickled down. The street outside glistened with rain.
Nayara opened her notebook, but didn't really read or write. Her eyes occasionally moved toward the window, then caught a faint reflection of someone in the glass—Raka, who was sitting on the other side, staring out with a calm face.
She pretended not to notice, but the corner of her eye kept catching that small movement.
Raka, on the other hand, wasn't really enjoying the view outside. Once or twice, he caught a glimpse of Nayara's reflection. It was the same face as that rainy day—focused, but still harboring a subtle tiredness.
The bus continued on. The sound of the tires on the road combined with the drizzle on the roof, creating a rhythm that was actually calming. Between the distance and the reflection in the glass, neither of them spoke. But the atmosphere wasn't cold. It wasn't unfamiliar, either. There was something faint—like a thin thread just beginning to connect two points that had never touched before.
When the bus stopped at the Cendana bus stop, Nayara stood, carrying her bag. She opened her light blue umbrella, got off the bus without looking back, and then walked steadily along the wet sidewalk. Her steps remained steady, like a rhythm that seemed ingrained long ago.
Raka glanced out the window. He watched Nayara walk away, then disappear around the corner. The bus started moving again. Raka stared at his reflection in the glass and smiled slightly.
I just realized her house is in the same direction, he thought to himself. It was strange, like just getting to know someone who had actually been passing along the same path for a long time.
Outside, the rain fell slowly. Softly. As if blurring the line between two lives that were beginning to come closer.