The silence between them wasn’t awkward. It was gentle — like a warm blanket after a long day.

Mari was the first to break it. She sighed and lowered her eyes.

“Sorry, Nick. You came to me with your disaster… and I turned the whole evening into… me. Again.”

Her voice was quiet, a little guilty. She held onto the edge of the bench with her fingers, as if trying to keep the moment steady.

Nick smiled and shook his head softly.

“Mari, no. This isn’t ‘again.’ This is… how it should be. I want to know you. Not just see you smile in the hallway or hear you talk about geography. I want to know you.”

He paused, and the silence returned — warmer this time.

“And honestly,” he added after a moment, “my drama next to yours… it’s nothing. Like, school-theatre-level at best.”

Mari snorted.

“Don’t downplay it. You had a real disaster. With a letter, a heartbreak, and your internet search history.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t give me a police-interrogation moment,” he said with a crooked smile. “And I… well, I was pure cringe.”

“Not pure,” she replied — and they both laughed quietly.

The sky above them had darkened completely. A streetlight blinked on, covering their faces in soft yellow light.

Nick glanced at the time and grew a bit more serious.

“We should go. Come on, let’s get to the bus stop.”

They stood up almost at the same moment.  Mari adjusted her jacket, and Nick picked up her bag without even asking — just naturally, like it was obvious. 

On the way, they didn’t stay silent. They talked the way people do after a heavy conversation — lighter, freer, warmer.

When the bus stop finally came into view, Nick looked at her carefully and said:

“You know… I’m really glad I have a g—”

He stopped, the word catching in his throat.

“—…a good friend like you. A really good friend. Don’t… uh… read anything into it.”

Mari gave him a surprised look, then nudged him with her elbow.

“Right. A friend. Sure. The best one, though. Right?”

Nick laughed.

“The best one.”

 The bus pulled up to the stop with a soft hiss. Inside, it was almost empty — just a few quiet passengers, a rustle of plastic bags, and someone scrolling through music in the back.

They sat together on the last row, where there was more space and fewer eyes on them.

At first, they didn’t talk. But it was the good kind of silence — the kind you don’t have to fill. No pressure, no awkwardness. Just a quiet I’m here, and that’s enough.

The bus turned gently, and Nick, without even noticing, leaned in and rested his head on Mari’s shoulder.

He straightened up instantly.

“Oh— sorry… I’m just… tired.”

Mari let out a small laugh, looking ahead, though her eyes were already smiling.

“No-no, please… I’m always ready to offer a friendly shoulder.”

Nick snorted, glancing sideways at her.

“Friendly, huh?”

“Absolutely. Extremely friendly. A textbook example of friendliness,” she said, barely holding back a grin.

Silence fell again — but now it was even softer. The low hum of the engine, the glow of streetlights passing by the windows, and two silhouettes sitting close, quiet but not lonely.

They rode like that for another ten minutes.  Neither spoke, but it wasn’t a tired silence — more like a warm one, a little shy after everything they’d shared.

When the bus slowed down at her stop, Mari turned to him.

“Thank you… for everything today.”

She hugged him. Quick, but real.  Then stepped out, waving as she walked away.

“Good night, Nick.”

“Good night, Mari,” he answered, even though she was already turning her back.

Nick watched her through the window for as long as he could, until the bus pulled away.

Mari walked home slowly, gripping her bag strap. Her heart beat quietly, but steady. Today was… strange. Unusual. Almost unreal.

She didn’t understand how it all happened. How she, usually so reserved, just… opened up. Told him things she’d kept locked away for so long. Things she’d never told anyone. Not because she was scared. But because she didn’t want to be pitied. She didn’t want to be defined by one awful moment. 

But he didn’t pity her. He didn’t judge. He just stayed beside her. And somehow, that was enough.

She brushed her fingers over the sleeve of her jacket, searching for comfort in something familiar.

And only now did she realize: somewhere between grades, bags, tests, and quiet conversations, he had become more than just a random classmate. More than someone who helped with math or shared a bench in the park. The thought of him didn’t scare her anymore. It felt… warm.

Nick sat in the half-empty bus, staring out the window, feeling something he didn’t remember feeling in a long time.

Not happy in the usual sense. Not lovesick or excited. Just… calm. A quiet, honest kind of calm. Like someone who had been swimming far too long and suddenly reached the shore.

He remembered the way she’d said, “I’m always ready to offer a friendly shoulder,” and he smiled without meaning to.

Friendly. Sure. Friendly. Except that friendly shoulder was the best one he had ever rested on.

 And for some reason, it was her eyes he wanted to see after a bad day. And for some reason, she was the one he was afraid to lose. Somewhere inside their “friendship,” someone had already stepped past the line between words and silence.

Then a thought came to him — quiet, unexpected, but so clear it stole his breath.

What if… I liked the wrong girl all this time?

He froze, staring at his reflection in the dark bus window — a little tired, a little scared, but for the first time that evening, completely honest.

He remembered Mari sitting beside him, steady and calm. The way she laughed at his silly jokes. The way she didn’t panic at his doubts. The way she didn’t turn away from his worries. The way she saw his letter without judging him. The way she simply sat next to him, saying nothing, but still somehow saying, “I’m here. You’re not alone.”

He remembered how she looked at him with those ocean-blue eyes, like she saw a little more than anyone else did. She was the first person he told about his real fears. The first he trusted with the pages he usually kept locked inside.

I’m such an idiot, he thought. I spent months chasing some picture of happiness… when happiness was sitting right next to me. Quietly. But it was there.

His shoulders shook with something warm. Not fear. Realisation.

And right then, Nick shot up from his seat.

“Oh, crap!” he blurted out loud.

The bus had already passed his stop. The neighborhood was familiar, but in the dark it felt almost strange.

He rushed to the driver, tripping over a seat on the way.

“Excuse me! Sorry! I… uh… I missed my stop. Could you— maybe— stop here?”

The driver, tired and looking like someone who’d dealt with far too many people today, grumbled:

“You know how many romantic heroes I’ve driven around tonight?” he muttered. “Fine, kid. Go. But make it quick. And stop falling asleep in your poetic suffering, alright?”

“Thanks! Seriously!” Nick said and grabbed his bag before jumping out of the bus.

The doors clattered shut behind him, and the bus rolled away into the evening emptiness.

Nick stood alone on the quiet street. The wind rustled through the trees, and somewhere in the distance a dog barked. The streetlights had already turned on — though a few flickered weakly, like old stars on a scratched film.

He checked his phone. Almost eight. His parents were probably starting to worry.

But his mind held only one name. One pair of eyes. One silence that felt like true understanding. Mari.....