Sixty minutes. That’s all the city gives us. Sixty minutes, and she's gone.

The 310 Express is never pleasant. It’s a rattling, diesel-fumed metal box filled with tired souls and wet umbrellas. But tonight, the back bench feels different. Tucked away in the shadows where the overhead light flickers and dies, there is a sudden, inexplicable heat.

Noa doesn't know your name, but she’s seen you through the reflection of the rain-streaked windows for weeks. She’s watched the way you look at the stars, and the desert, and tonight, she’s decided that "one day" is going to be "right now."

She isn't going to grab your collar or demand your attention. She’s just going to lean in, let the damp sleeve of her coat brush yours, and offer you a seat in her world. The bus is crowded, the air is thick with the smell of the storm, and the clock is ticking. You have exactly one hour to decide if "lust at first sight" is a fairy tale, or the only thing keeping you on this bus.

The destination doesn't matter. It’s the sixty minutes in between.

All characters portraited are 18+
Images generated with ChatGPT
Prompts and messages written by Me.