Characters on the Bus
a quiet observe
Welcome to Perspectives — a collection of real moments and authentic stories from the everyday journey. Here, you’ll find glimpses into the lives of strangers, those silent yet powerful scenes we might overlook in the rush of daily life, shared as short stories. Each story captures a shared moment, a small but meaningful part of the daily experience, offering fresh perspectives on what we often take for granted. These are true, unfiltered tales from the commute, worth sharing and reflecting on, inviting you to see the world through a different lens.
Entry 1 :
Curly Hair and Choices
There he was, the curly-haired guy sitting right in front of me, clutching his iPhone like it was something precious. The screen was angled just so, giving me a front-row seat to an odd little ritual: choosing a lock screen. He was serious about it, scrolling through what must have been at least 15 or 20 wallpapers, each one a different take on who he might want to be today. There were sunsets, cityscapes, abstract patterns, even a sleepy cat. I was rooting for the cat, honestly.
But he had other ideas. Finally, he stopped on a model—half-naked, six-pack glistening, with that confident grin you see in gym ads. He paused, studied it like one might a Renaissance masterpiece, then tapped it, selecting it as The One.
But the ritual didn’t stop there. He went back to his home screen, then back to the lock screen, making sure everything lined up, the clock nestled just right above those carefully crafted abs. And then, with a small, secretive smile, he locked the phone and slipped it away, like he’d pulled off a little victory. Headphones in, he turned to the window, maybe listening to some epic playlist as the bus rolled past the trees, looking completely satisfied.
And as funny as it was, I got it. Somewhere out there, maybe the model was having a good day too. But there was something about his dedication to that lock screen that made me wonder—was he looking for a dose of motivation? Some morning inspiration? Or was it just his daily routine?
I don’t judge. My own wallpaper used to be a photo of my favourite person, and some mornings, just seeing them made everything feel a tiny bit better, like they were right there with me. Cheesy? Maybe. But hey, sometimes that’s all you need.
~ by Avik Nandy
Entry 2 :
The couple with no smile
For almost two years now, at the same bus stop, I’ve seen them—a couple standing side by side, holding hands tightly. Just the hands, though. The rest of their bodies don’t touch, like there’s this invisible line they won’t cross. No words, no smiles, just that steady grip between them. Day after day, without fail, they’re there. My schedule shifts—some days I’m early, other days a bit late—but it doesn’t matter. They’re always waiting, just the same. And I still can’t say why, but something about them gives me this strange sense of peace. A little joy, even.
Some mornings, when I get to the stop and they aren’t there, my eyes start wandering, scanning the street. But then, sure enough, I spot them walking up, hands already locked. I catch myself thinking, It’d be nice to have someone to walk with, like that.
We all watch the bus approaching, and as usual, they step forward together, close to the door. They kiss—fierce, like a hug pressed into their lips—and then he boards, leaving her behind. They keep waving to each other, only stopping once they’re out of sight. And him? He’ll find a seat by the window, staring out, hands loose in his lap, not really moving. Just thinking. About what, though? That part, I’ll never know.
And then, every day, we’re off.
I don’t see them anymore, but my eyes still wander with the hope of seeing them holding hands, walking toward me.
~ by Avik Nandy
Entry 3 :
The twins
The twins get on the bus midway through my ride every morning, two sisters dressed in perfect, eerie synchronicity. Everything matches—same dress, same backpack, same water bottle, even the same socks and shoes. They’ve got identical phones, each with the same case, and both wear matching watches and hair clips. Even a tiny mermaid tattoo sits on each of their left arms, every single detail aligned like clockwork. Except one.
Their faces. One of them always wears this gentle smile, a warm, quiet sort of happiness that somehow fills the space around her. She waves at the bus driver each time they board, her smile never quite fading. Her sister, though? She’s a mystery. There’s something heavy in her eyes, a kind of sadness she carries without even a flicker of a smile. The contrast is striking, like they’re halves of a whole—one carrying the light, the other something darker.
I wonder about her, the sad one. Some mornings, I think about sitting next to her, maybe offering a piece of chocolate, hoping it might bring a hint of that smile her sister wears so naturally. What is it that weighs her down? What story sits behind that quiet face?
Every morning, they board the bus together, yet they seem worlds apart. I can’t help but wonder what would make the difference for her, just enough to let a little of her sister’s light shine through.
Why is she sad though?
~ by Avik Nandy
Entry 4 :
The Bookkeepers
There’s this young guy, early twenties, blond hair, and glasses with lenses thick enough to tell you he spends most of his time with his nose in a book. He’s got a particular style too—always dressed in light colors: white, grey, or beige. Never once have I seen him in anything dark, like he’s allergic to shadows. He carries a white backpack, and for some reason, he never takes a seat, no matter how empty the bus is. He plants himself up front, next to the driver, in that small luggage nook, where he places his backpack just so. It’s almost like a ritual, standing there with his book, the only splash of color in his otherwise “colorless” ensemble. And it’s never the same book, either. Maybe he does finish a book a day; that might explain the glasses.
But then, here’s the interesting part—he’s not alone. A few stops later, in comes a second guy, around the same age, with dark hair and a black backpack. He stands directly across from the first guy, taking the luggage nook on the right, mirroring him in nearly every way. This guy’s dressed in muted tones too, but he’s all black and grey, the flip side. He pulls out a book, too—never sits, like they’re a matched set, though I haven’t figured out if it’s a different one each time. Just like his counterpart, he stands silently, flipping pages.
It’s strange and oddly poetic—the white and black backpacks side by side, like the Yin and Yang symbol, or a peace sign split into two: a perfect balance. Each of them holding down one side of the bus, so close yet so removed, like two halves of a silent understanding. And when the bus reaches their stop, they both step off, each going their separate way, never a word, never a glance exchanged. Just a quiet symmetry, black and white, moving on their own paths.
Exactly! It’s like a quiet performance they put on every time, a wordless play unfolding on the bus—two characters perfectly in sync, executing their roles with precision. It’s a little surreal, almost hypnotic, this ritual they’ve created, like they’re actors hitting their marks, neither missing a beat. The whole scene just plays on repeat, each ride like a reset.
And somehow, watching them feels like seeing a story in motion, a silent theatre where the bus is the stage, and every detail—down to the black and white backpacks—is part of the set design. Lovely, indeed.
~ by Avik Nandy
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