Against All Odds?

1. A Bus Ride Home

-♡♥︎♤♥︎♡⁃

𝑨𝒔 I settle into my seat by the window, I push my braids back and turn to face the window, letting the soft breeze brush my face while I watch the rest of the passengers boarding the bus.

The morning sun is still low on the horizon, casting a warm glow that blends with the coolness of dawn. The smell of freshly brewed coffee wafts through the bus as a passenger steps on with a takeaway cup, reminding me of the early mornings Dad would get up and make coffee.

While everyone is getting settled, I take the opportunity to reply to Olivia's messages and update my mom and brother about my journey home.

Even though flying would be faster and more comfortable, I chose the bus to save money and revisit the route my dad and I used to take on our trips. The winding roads, the stops at quaint diners, and the sight of familiar landmarks—all of it brought me a sense of comfort that I desperately needed right now.

Since his passing four years ago, I haven't found the strength or courage to return home, fearing the reality I'd have to face. My heart still aches with the weight of unresolved grief, a burden I've carried with me like a shadow that refuses to leave.

As memories of him resurface, tears sting my eyes, but I manage to blink them away, hiding the sadness that has shadowed me for so long.

"𝘬𝘶𝘥𝘰𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘰𝘱𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘶𝘴. 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘳𝘦 𝘨𝘰𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘣𝘦 𝘰𝘯 𝘪𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴, 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵?"

Olivia's concern is clear, even through text. I can almost hear her voice, that mix of worry and affection that makes her such a good friend.

Although she offered to help with a plane ticket, I didn't want to burden her. She's already done so much for me; I can't keep leaning on her whenever trouble arises.

"𝘐 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸," I smile as I type, "𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘐'𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘦."

After convincing her once again that there's no need to worry, we end our conversation.

Not long after putting my phone away, I hear the sound of a chicken clucking. When I look up, I see an elderly woman making her way to her seat, carrying a chicken in a wire cage close to her chest and a bag slung over her shoulder. I wonder if it's a pet or just a farm animal she's bringing to someone.

The moment our eyes meet, my gut tells me she's going to sit next to me, and I desperately hope that's not the case.

I have nothing against chickens, but the thought of sitting next to one for who knows how long, is unbearable. Besides their clucking and messiness, being on this nearly worn-out bus is uncomfortable enough.

As she approaches, ignoring a few empty seats in front, my heart rate quickens. My instinct is to look away, but for some reason, I can't. This only makes things worse, as she might think I'm inviting her to sit next to me.

Please don't sit here. Please don't sit here.

Seeing the obvious, I could just get up and sit somewhere else, however, getting up just as she's about to reach my seat would be rude; and it's not in my nature to do that to people, especially the elderly.

"Hi, dear, is this seat taken?" she asks with a warm smile, her wrinkles deepening at the corners of her eyes. Her gentle demeanor makes it difficult to lie.