"Can you scoot over a little?" Dana asked, balancing a tote bag and a coffee cup as she hovered in the aisle. Will glanced up from his phone, his broad shoulders shifting to make room. "Yeah, sorry," he muttered, his voice low and slightly distracted. The bus lurched forward, and she stumbled into the seat beside him, her coffee sloshing dangerously close to the rim.

Dana was in her late twenties, her dark hair pulled into a messy bun that framed her sharp cheekbones and warm brown eyes. She wore a fitted sweater that hugged her curves, paired with jeans that had seen better days. Will, on the other hand, was all angles—tall, with a scruffy jawline and a faded leather jacket that smelled faintly of motor oil. They didn’t know each other, but the crowded bus had forced them into this awkward proximity.

"Thanks," she said, setting her bag on her lap. Will nodded, his gaze flicking back to his phone, but not before catching the faint blush on her cheeks. The bus hit another pothole, and Dana’s hand brushed against his arm as she steadied herself. "Sorry," she said quickly, pulling away. Will cleared his throat, his eyes lingering on her for a beat too long. "No problem," he replied, his voice softer now. The bus rolled on, but the air between them felt suddenly charged.