I started seeing her every morning at 6:20 a.m.
Always the third row, right side, by the window. Always with a book she never read. Just held it, stared outside like she was waiting for something—or someone.
At first, I thought it was coincidence. Maybe we just had the same schedule. But by week two, it felt… deliberate. Familiar. Like something was weaving itself beneath the surface.
We never spoke. The silence between us was oddly comforting. Everyone else on board was buried in screens or sleep, but she—she paid attention. To trees. To traffic. To life.
One morning, the seat beside her was empty. I hesitated, then slid in.
She glanced at me and said, “You finally made it.”
I laughed nervously. “Were you expecting me?”
She smiled but didn’t answer. Instead, she leaned her head back and closed her eyes.
From that day, it became a thing. Same time, same seat. We never exchanged numbers. Never asked names. But every morning, she’d say something strange.
“Some people don’t know they’re lost until the ride gets quiet.”
“You ever notice how the city doesn’t beg to be seen? It just is.”
“I think healing happens in motion.”
I started journaling them. Her quotes. Her rhythms. Her pauses. She had a way of making silence sound like a language.
Then one morning, she didn’t show up.
I waited two weeks.
Three.
Then, just as I was about to give up, she returned. Same seat. Same calm.
But this time, she said, “I needed to go offline. Life was buffering.”
I nodded. Said nothing. And for the first time, I leaned my head on the window too.
That day, I finally asked, “Why this bus?”
She looked at me like it was obvious.
“Because peace is scheduled.”
And then, like it was just another part of the story, I looked up—and saw it:
Shuttlers.
Every ride felt like an intentional pause in the madness.
Every morning, a pocket of peace between the chaos.
And her?
Maybe she was just a reminder that some of us don’t need a destination.
Just a seat by the window, and a ride that makes us feel safe enough to breathe.
Shuttlers: Where peace meets motion. And sometimes,love finds its way to the third row, right side, by the window.