The bus ride to the mountains was supposed to be boring. Six hours, cracked leather seats, someone’s playlist bleeding through cheap earphones two rows back. Laibagul had claimed the window seat before anyone could argue, and that’s exactly where Obaid ended up sitting next to her — not because he chose to, but because every other seat had somehow filled up in the two minutes he spent buying chips at the last stop.
“You’re stuck with me,” he said, dropping into the seat like it was a punishment.
She didn’t even look up from her phone. “Lucky me.”
He laughed — too loud, too nervous for someone who claimed not to care. She glanced at him then, just for a second, and something about the way his hair stuck up made her grin.
“You know,” she said, “you kind of look like that one cartoon guy. The clumsy one who’s always tripping over something.”
“Wow. Thank you.”
“It’s a compliment. He’s likeable.”
He rolled his eyes, but he was smiling, and for the rest of the ride he kept finding reasons to talk to her — pointing out weird shaped clouds, asking dumb questions just to hear her answer them.
Somewhere past the third hour, she fell quiet, watching the hills turn gold as the sun dropped low. He noticed the way the light caught her eyes, turning the green almost gold too, like it belonged there.
“What?” she asked, catching him staring.
“Nothing. Your eyes just do this thing in the light.”
She looked away fast, but he saw the corner of her mouth lift, and for a second neither of them said anything. It was the kind of silence that didn’t need filling.
By the last night, everyone knew the trip was almost over. Bags were half-packed. People were already talking about the drive home like it had happened. Laibagul found herself annoyed by that — annoyed that it mattered so much, and more annoyed that she didn’t know why.
She found Obaid outside, sitting apart from the others, looking up at the sky.
“Can’t sleep?” she asked, sitting beside him.
“Too many stars. Distracting.”
She laughed, but it came out smaller than usual. “We leave tomorrow.”
“I know.”
Neither of them said anything for a while. The fire crackled somewhere behind them. She kept waiting for him to say something — anything — and when he didn’t, she almost got up. Almost let the moment pass the way she’d let every other one pass all week, tucked safely behind a joke.
Instead she said, quieter than she meant to, “I’m going to miss annoying you.”
He turned to look at her, and for once he wasn’t smiling. “You’re not annoying.”
“I compared you to a cartoon.”
“You still do it because you like looking at me. I noticed.”
Her breath caught — just slightly, just enough that she hoped he didn’t hear it. She wanted to fire back something clever, the way she always did, but nothing came. So she just looked at him, really looked, and let the silence say what she couldn’t.
“So,” he said carefully, “when we get back—”
“Don’t ruin it by asking properly.”
“Fine.” He bumped his shoulder against hers. “Same seat, next trip?”
She smiled down at her hands, feeling her face go warm despite the cold night air. “Only if you sit there on purpose this time.”
“Deal.”
Neither of them moved. The stars stayed exactly where they were, and so did they, shoulder to shoulder, saying nothing else at all — because for the first time all week, nothing else needed to be said.