The bus groans through the city like it knows what’s coming. Crushed between stop and start, heat builds — slow and shameless. Two women trade glances over a shared grip on the same handrail, knuckles brushing, then lingering. A young man with a crooked grin leans too close. The air is sweat-slick, ripe with tension and perfume. A buttoned-up woman parts her knees a little too wide, while the girl beside her shifts with parted lips and dark eyes, book forgotten. Somewhere behind them, a passenger pants through laughter; someone else films, not sure why they’ve started shaking. The brakes hiss. No one gets off — yet. But they’re close.

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