It was a rainy evening when Claire boarded the bus home from work. The windows were streaked with water, the seats damp from umbrellas, and the city outside blurred into gray. She slid into a seat near the back, pulling her coat tighter, lost in her thoughts.
Moments later, she noticed him. A man, maybe in his forties, sat across the aisle. He wasn’t doing anything unusual — just watching the rain with a faint smile on his face. But when his eyes flickered toward her, Claire felt a chill. His gaze lingered too long, as if he knew her.
She shifted uncomfortably, pretending to scroll through her phone. When she looked back up, he was still smiling. Then, softly, he spoke.
“You used to hide under the porch when you were scared, didn’t you?”
Claire’s blood ran cold.
Her phone nearly slipped from her hand. That was something she had never told anyone. Not her parents, not her friends. As a child, whenever her house felt too loud, too frightening, she would crawl under the porch, hugging her knees until the world quieted. How could this stranger possibly know?
“Excuse me?” she stammered.
The man leaned slightly closer, his smile never fading. “I remember. You always thought no one could see you there. But I did.”
Her heart pounded. Memories rushed back — dusty wooden beams, spiders in the corners, the muffled sound of her mother calling her name. She had been so small, so sure her hiding place was a secret world.
“Who are you?” she whispered, her voice trembling.
For a long moment, the man didn’t answer. The bus jolted, the lights flickered, and his expression softened. “Someone who lived across the street,” he said finally. “I was just a boy then. My window looked right into your yard. I used to see you there all the time, but I never told anyone. I thought it was your safe place. And I guess, in a strange way, it became mine too. Watching you survive.”
Claire’s breath caught.
The anger she expected to feel didn’t come. Instead, a strange sadness filled her chest. She remembered those nights — the loneliness, the fear. To think someone else had seen her, had silently witnessed her little refuge, was both unsettling and oddly comforting.
The bus slowed at the next stop. The man stood, nodding politely. “Take care of yourself, Claire,” he said quietly, stepping off into the rain.
Claire sat frozen, her mind spinning. He hadn’t asked for anything. He hadn’t followed her. He had simply reminded her that even in her darkest, most hidden moments, she had never truly been invisible.
