The sun had already dipped below the treeline by the time he stepped out of the school gates. The world was painted in the colors of departure.. faded oranges, bruised purples, and the pale gray of gathering dusk. The streetlamps hadn't yet flickered to life, and for a moment, the road seemed caught between two worlds, day clinging to its last breath, night waiting patiently to swallow it whole.
He adjusted the strap of his bag and started walking toward the bus stop. The pavement still held the day's warmth, radiating faintly through the soles of his shoes. A breeze moved through the trees that lined the street, rustling leaves that sounded almost like whispering voices. He didn't listen closely enough to tell if they were speaking to him or about him.
The bus stop was deserted. A faded advertisement for some phone company peeled from the glass shelter, edges curling like dying paper. He sat on the metal bench, its chill seeping into him, and stared down the empty road.
When the bus finally arrived, it did so with a weary sigh of brakes and a low mechanical groan, as if the vehicle itself resented having to move again. The driver gave him a brief nod, the kind reserved for regular passengers who never spoke. He tapped his card, found his usual seat near the back, and sank into it.
The hum of the engine filled the silence, joined by the rhythmic squeal of wheels against the road. Streetlights flickered on one by one as the city faded behind him, first the storefronts, then the rows of houses, then the last few pools of light where people still walked their dogs or watered gardens. Beyond that, there was only darkness and the long ribbon of road stretching endlessly through the countryside.
He didn't mind the distance. In truth, he preferred it. The hour-long ride gave him space to think, to retreat into that private corner of his mind where everything slowed down and took shape.
His grandma's house wasn't really in the middle of nowhere, but it was close enough to feel that way. Set against fields that stretched out toward the horizon and forests that whispered old secrets in the wind, it felt removed from the noise of the world. Out there, the sky seemed bigger, the stars sharper, and time itself a little less cruel.
He pulled out his phone, the screen's glow slicing through the dim bus interior. No new messages. He scrolled absently through the same feed he always did, seeing faces he didn't care about saying things they didn't mean. Then, just as he was about to lock the screen, the vibration came, short, sharp, insistent.
Liam.
He stared at the name for a second. One of the guys from school. Not quite a friend, not quite a stranger. Liam was the kind of person who lived loudly, always surrounded by people, always laughing too hard, talking too much, chasing something he couldn't quite catch. He hung around with a group that made teachers nervous and students wary, boys who talked in smirks, who skipped classes, who found their power in making others uncomfortable.
They weren't bad people, he told himself once. Just restless ones.
He opened the message.
Yo, you up? Need a favor, bro. Real quick.
He frowned. His thumbs hovered over the keyboard. Then another message followed almost immediately
Don't ghost me, man. It's nothing big. Just need your help with something tonight.
He could almost hear Liam's voice through the words fast, casual, like it wasn't really a question. He sighed, letting the phone drop against his knee.
Outside the window, the fields rolled by in long, dark waves. The bus headlights stretched across them like fleeting ghosts, illuminating patches of fence, the occasional sign, a lone mailbox swallowed by weeds. He thought about what "nothing big" might mean coming from Liam and his group. Usually, it meant trouble dressed in casual words.
He turned the phone over in his hand. Part of him wanted to ignore it, to let the night and the distance between them swallow the conversation whole. But another part of him, the one that hated confrontation more than anything, whispered that ignoring might just make it worse later.
He typed back
What kind of favor?
The reply came instantly, like Liam had been waiting for it.
Just a drop-off thing. Chill. You're good at keeping quiet, right? Need someone lowkey.
That last word, lowkey, sat uneasily in his stomach. He knew what it meant. It wasn't about trust, it was about invisibility. They needed someone who wouldn't draw attention, someone who could move through the world unseen.
He didn't respond. Not yet.
The bus slowed as it reached the outer edge of town, the lights of civilization thinning to scattered dots. A single gas station flickered past, then nothing but the long stretch of country road. The hum of the tires deepened, the engine groaning as the vehicle climbed a gradual hill.
He rested his head against the glass, the cold biting faintly against his temple. His reflection stared back half lit, half shadowed. He looked tired. Older. Or maybe just uncertain.
A memory surfaced: his grandmother's voice telling him once, "When you're young, people try to convince you the world's full of good and bad, light and dark. But really, it's just people..doing what they think they have to do."
He hadn't understood it then. Now, it made too much sense.
Another vibration.
C'mon bro, you in? It's just one time. After that, you're solid with us. Promise.
He stared at the message. "Solid with us." Like it was some kind of currency.
The bus hissed to a stop. He looked up, his stop.
He shoved the phone into his pocket, deciding not to reply. Not yet.
Outside, the air was colder, sharper. The stars were out now, scattered like spilled salt across the black sky. Crickets sang from the tall grass, and somewhere far off, a dog barked. The road leading to his grandparents' house was narrow and cracked, bordered by wire fences that glinted faintly in the starlight. He started walking.
By the time he reached the porch, the house lights were glowing warm behind the curtains. He could smell wood smoke and something sweet, apple pie, maybe. The old house creaked softly, a familiar sound that almost felt like a welcome.
His little brother was the first to spot him through the window. A blur of energy, he came running to the door before it even opened. "You're late again!" the boy said, grinning wide.
He smiled faintly, setting down his bag. "The bus was slow."
His grandma appeared from the kitchen, her silver hair tied back, eyes soft and tired but kind. "You look thin," she said immediately, as if it were a moral crime. "Sit. Eat. The pie's still warm."
His grandfather sat in his usual chair by the fireplace, newspaper folded on his lap. "Evenin', kid," he said without looking up. "World treatin' you kindly?"
He hesitated. "As kindly as it can."
His grandpa chuckled. "That's good enough, then."
They ate together, the conversation light, comfortable. His little brother talked about a bird's nest he'd found, his grandma reminded him to get some rest, and his grandfather told a story that meandered so far from its point that they all forgot what it was about halfway through.
For a little while, the world outside the warm circle of the kitchen didn't exist.
But when he went to his room later, closing the door behind him, the quiet returned. The phone lay on his bed, screen dark. He stared at it for a long time, then finally picked it up.
Liam's messages waited, glowing like tiny traps of light in the dark.
He didn't know why, but his finger hovered over the reply longer than it should have.
Maybe curiosity.
Maybe guilt.
Maybe that quiet part of him that wanted to see what would happen if he stopped being invisible.
He typed one word.
Where?
Then he set the phone down beside him and listened to the distant sound of frogs and the whisper of wind through the fields,wondering, not for the first time, what kind of person he was becoming