Bored by the endless throngs of rather sickly trees and pigeons, I turn from my window to make small talk with the young woman sitting beside me.

Oh, dear. Now that I have a better look, she doesn’t seem to be in the best shape. Strands of auburn hair are splayed across a ruffled Chicago Bulls t-shirt at least two sizes too big, spilling over creased trousers, and reaching just inches above her knees. She fiddles with a shoddy headband pulling at her scalp while scrolling through her phone aimlessly. I watch in amazement as a horde of sorority girls saunter in - all arrogance and smirks and haughty perms. They fling snide remarks in the girl’s direction, whispering and giggling. My neighbor doesn’t even look up.

Oh, dear. It’s fairly obvious that the entire bus is gawking at her. Only, I can’t tell whether she doesn’t care or is actually oblivious.

I don’t know which is worse.

It’s a second too late before I realise that I’m gawking, as the tuft of curls has now faced me, eyebrows arched quizzically.

“Er, hello,” I stammer, deciding to focus on a blemish on her trousers instead of her penetrating gaze. I’m stuck. “Where are you heading to?”

Perfect.

I risk a glance at the girl, expecting an offended reply at my tactless excuse. Instead, she looks bemused if not slightly exasperated: eyebrows dipped down to settle in a frown, feverish hair dancing in the air conditioning. I want to tell her that she would look much more presentable in a bun but of course, I don’t, instead muttering an apology before facing the enthralling scenery once again.

So much for small talk. 

I don’t realize the girl is saying something until she taps me on the shoulder. Apparently watching birds is such an exciting pastime, I was straying into some sort of hazy stupor. I think I almost forgot where I was for a second.

She eyes me sheepishly. Like I could break if she said the wrong thing. Charming, because I’m almost certain I have the same look on my face.

“The hospital,” she says.

“Pardon?” Evidently, I’ve lost all my bearings concerning this conversation.

“You asked me where I was going,” she says slowly, chewing on her lip. “The hospital. I’m going to the hospital.”

“Ah, so I did. Hold on, the hospital? Are you unwell?” 

“No.” She opens her mouth but doesn’t say anything; a gaping question mark. I wait, in case she wants to elaborate but surprisingly, the apprehension of revealing information to a random stranger on a strange, random bus shuts it down again. 

I’m about to turn back to the window when she quietly adds, “It’s my dad.”

Her gaze falls on me. Something about it feels disorienting. Depressing, even.

Maybe it's the stained trousers or the third-rate t-shirt or the messy hair.

Or maybe it’s the withered expression in her eyes, the wrinkles that fold and crease around them when they shouldn’t. Maybe it’s the way her body crumples around herself, a wilting sprout just waiting and waiting until someday, someone let in some light.

Until someone cared.

After a few beats of silence, the girl looks away. I have a feeling I failed a test I didn’t know was happening until now.

“He’s… he’s in a coma,” she whispers. She eyes me again, downcast eyes searching for something. A few more beats pass, and her shoulders droop.

Wilting.

Before I can talk myself out of it, I reach my hands out, clasping them with hers. She seems at ease with the gesture, so I leave them there.

I decide I feel horrible for this random girl I met not even ten minutes ago. She can’t see a glimmer of hope, a single ray of light. Perhaps she needs someone to tell her that it surrounds her.

Perhaps that person will be me. I grapple with my words.

“Be kinder to yourself, dear. Things will turn out okay in the end. I promise.”

To my horror, tears brim against her eyelashes. Oh, dear. She’s crying.

“I’m sorry,” she sniffles, tugging at a thread on her t-shirt. “It’s just… my mom always used to tell me stuff like that.” She laughs through her tears. “I didn’t realise how much I miss her until now.”

I squeeze her hands. “Of course, dear.” As an afterthought, I add, “Is your mother alright?”

The girl lets out a single, solitary laugh. Only it lacks any humor. “It’s complicated,” she says.

“Bad relationship?”

“No, no,” she says, shaking her head in frustration. “It’s just… complicated. She’s sick.” She pauses, taking a breath. Building up the nerve. “I guess there are days I feel like I don’t know her anymore.” Her shoulders shake, like that confession had drained the little energy she had left inside of her.

“Well, she must have raised you right if you’re a Chicago Bulls fan,” I say, gesturing to the bright letters imprinted on her t-shirt. “Although, I must say the size is a tad big, don’t you think?” I smirk, attempting to lighten the mood.

The girl laughs. I’m pleased to see that this time, her eyes light up and her arms uncoil a little. “I think my mom would like you,” she says.

I smile. “She must love you a lot.”

The girl smiles back, but I can still see a flicker of sadness in her eyes. “Yes. Yes, she does.”

Again, I get the most absurd feeling. Like I’ve seen her before. I’m missing a piece, but I don’t know what puzzle I’m trying to solve.

I try shaking the disorientation when the bus comes to a halt, tires screeching against the gravel. The driver makes his announcement through the speakers.

“All passengers for Saint Louis Hospital! I repeat, all passengers for Saint Louis Hospital!”

“Looks like this is your stop”, I tell her once she gets up, twisting her hair into a neat bun. Much better, I think.

But instead of moving away, she just looks at me with glistening eyes, a strange expression etched on her face. Too young. It looks something like wistfulness. I find the piece right before she says,

“No, this is our stop. Come on mom, we’ve got to go.”