The Unknown Passenger:

It became close to midnight after I boarded the closing bus home. The metropolis outdoor become drenched in rain, the streets shimmering beneath the faint glow of flickering lamps. inside the bus, the air smelled faintly of damp fabric and tiredness. A handful of passengers sat scattered throughout the seats—students with headphones, office people staring blankly at their telephones, and some strangers whose faces I didn’t trouble to observe.

I chose a seat close to the center, close enough to the exit but some distance enough to experience hidden. i used to be exhausted, my thoughts heavy with the day’s weight. The bus jolted forward, and i leaned towards the window, watching raindrops race every different down the glass.

That’s when I observed him.

A person sat rows in advance, angled slightly closer to me. His garments were ordinary—a gray jacket, worn denims—however his posture changed into unnerving. He wasn’t scrolling through a phone or staring out the window like anyone else. He become watching. now not simply glancing, however watching me with a sharpness that made my skin prickle.

I tried to disregard it. Strangers stare every so often. maybe he became misplaced in concept. perhaps I reminded him of someone. however then, as the bus rattled over a pothole, he leaned nearer and spoke.

He stated my name.

no longer loudly, no longer in a way that drew attention. just a whisper, planned and unmistakable. My name, spoken as though he had regarded it all alongside.

My coronary heart lurched. I iced up, unsure if I had misheard. but his lips moved once more, shaping the syllables of my call with eerie precision.

I wanted to ask him how he knew me, however the phrases stuck in my throat. instead, I shifted in my seat, looking to convince myself it turned into coincidence. possibly he turned into speakme to a person else. possibly it changed into a trick of the thoughts.

Yet nobody else reacted. the opposite passengers remained absorbed of their very own worlds. only I felt the load of his gaze, the kick back of popularity.

Minutes surpassed. The bus rolled via empty streets, stopping every so often to allow passengers off. the crowd thinned till just a few remained. the man by no means moved. He sat rigid, eyes locked on me, whispering my call from time to time like a chant.

I taken into consideration leaving the bus early, but worry rooted me in place. What if he followed? What if getting into the rain-soaked night meant on foot instantly into his entice?

eventually, I accumulated courage. I leaned ahead, my voice trembling. “Do I recognise you?”

He smiled faintly, a smile that carried no warmth. “you'll,” he said. The phrases sliced through me. you will. now not you do, now not we met earlier than. A promise, or possibly a danger. The bus screeched to another stop. A woman exited, leaving the aisle empty among us. the man rose slowly, his moves planned, and started out taking walks in the direction of me. Panic surged. I clutched my bag, geared up to run. but simply as he reached my row, the bus driver called out: “final prevent!” The doorways hissed open.

The person paused, glanced at me one final time, and stepped off into the rain. I sat frozen, my pulse hammering. once I sooner or later dared to transport, I rushed to the window. He became gone. No trace of him on the abandoned street. That night, I barely slept. His words echoed in my thoughts: you will.

Days have handed, however the reminiscence lingers. occasionally, after I walk through crowded locations, I feel eyes on me. occasionally, I pay attention my name whispered in the hum of strangers.

And every now and then, I ponder if the passenger who knew my name continues to be waiting—somewhere in the shadows—for me to apprehend what he intended.