Two-timing

John settled into his seat on the bus from Sydney to Canberra. The seat next to him was still empty. He let his shoulders sink back into the cushion and pulled out his phone.

It was his wife.

“Did you land safely?” she asked.

“Yes, all good. Just getting comfortable on the bus now,” he said. They exchanged a few words, nothing dramatic, just the usual. He hung up with a smile that stayed for a moment longer than the call.

When he looked up, the seat wasn’t empty anymore. A young woman had slipped in beside him. She was in her mid-twenties, beautiful in a way that didn’t need effort. She caught him glancing and smiled as if she had caught him red-handed.

“Long ride, isn’t it?” she said.

“Yeah,” he replied, his own smile appearing almost without a warning.

The bus pulled away, and so did their words. What began with a remark about the weather turned into hours of talking. She told him her name was Tina. They spoke about cities they had visited, books they had loved, and somehow the conversation drifted into life itself. John hadn’t expected it, but he found himself laughing, even listening in a way he hadn’t in months. The journey that usually felt dragging passed as if time had been trimmed short.

By the time they reached Canberra, he felt a restlessness he couldn’t explain. Passengers were pulling bags from the racks, stretching their stiff limbs. Tina turned to him with that easy smile, offered her hand for a goodbye. When he shook it, he felt something slip between his fingers.

A card.

And then that smile again, the one that carried a question without asking!

For a moment John froze. The rectangle in his palm weighed more than paper ever should. People often said cheating was a mistake, but standing there with that card he knew it wasn’t. A mistake is when you trip on the pavement, spill your coffee, say the wrong word in haste. Cheating doesn’t arrive like that. It’s slower, deliberate, a choice you make before you even admit you’ve made it. It begins small: a smile that lasts too long, a text message in later half of the night, an emoji carrying more meaning than words...

He thought of his wife’s voice, the way she still asked about his safety like it was the first time he traveled alone. He thought of her trust, simple and unguarded, the kind of trust you don’t notice until it trembles. And then there was Tina, youthful and curious, her eyes like small fires — a spark that had tugged at him for three straight hours.

His phone buzzed. He looked down.

“Strange coincidence… my cousin Tina said she was on the same bus to Canberra. Did you meet her?”

His breath stalled in his chest. Tina stood a few steps in front, waiting for her bag. She looked over her shoulder and smiled, sharper now, as though she already knew the weight she’d slipped into his hand.

John looked at her over the edge of his hand when he closed it into a fist; the card seemed to burn, its corners cutting into his palm. His wife’s message lit the screen again. He crumbled the paper; the rip was oddly loud, and Tina’s smile faltered. Silently he put the scraps into his pocket.

Outside, the cool Canberra air felt like release. He pulled out his phone again and texted his wife. “Yes. I met her.”

Bus fumes trailed behind him as his heart stayed steady despite the distance.

_sr

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_{I played a little with this prompt by @dove11. You can try too :)}