"Through the Changing Seasons"

Through the Changing Seasons

---

The first time Noah saw her, the wind carried the scent of rain, and the autumn leaves danced between them. She stood at the bus stop, eyes lost in a book, oblivious to the world around her. He had seen many people at that stop, yet something about her made the crowded city blur into irrelevance.

Noah hesitated, adjusting his scarf as if it were armor. The cold gnawed at his fingertips, but he welcomed the discomfort—it gave him an excuse to glance her way again. She turned a page, her fingers delicate yet sure, tracing the words as if she were memorizing them not just with her mind, but with her soul.

That day, he missed his bus. And the next. And the one after that.

---

Winter arrived with its quiet hush, the city wrapped in soft white. He saw her often now, always with a book, always standing at the same spot, waiting for a bus that took her who-knows-where.

One evening, as the snowflakes wove a gentle lace between them, Noah finally spoke.

"Good book?" His voice was hoarse, years of hesitation catching in his throat.

She looked up, startled. Then, a slow, warm smile spread across her face. "The best."

He chuckled. "That’s a high bar. What’s it about?"

She closed the book, holding it to her chest. "It's about two people who find each other in the strangest of ways. It’s messy and complicated, but somehow… right."

Something in the way she said it made his pulse quicken. "Sounds real."

"It is."

That was the first of many conversations. Some days, they spoke of books; other days, they spoke of everything else. Dreams, childhood memories, and the way the city felt different when it snowed. She told him her name—Mira. He repeated it under his breath later that night as if it were something fragile and precious.

The first time he made her laugh, really laugh, it was over something silly—an impression of their grumpy bus driver. The sound wrapped around him like warmth in the winter chill.

He missed his bus again that day.

---

Spring tiptoed into the city, bringing with it the scent of earth and renewal. The trees bloomed, soft pink petals clinging to the wind like whispered promises.

They began meeting outside of the bus stop Coffee shops, bookshops, walks along the river. Mira would recommend books, and Noah would read them just to have something to discuss with her. He found himself memorizing the way she spoke about stories, how her hands moved in small, unconscious gestures when she got excited.

One evening, they walked through the park, the air thick with the scent of lilacs. Mira stopped beneath a cherry blossom tree, tilting her head back, eyes closed as petals rained down around her.

"It feels like the world is celebrating something," she murmured.

He wanted to tell her that maybe it was. Maybe the world had been waiting for this moment, for her to stand there, for him to watch her and realize—

But he didn't say it. Instead, he reached out and plucked a petal from her hair. Their fingers brushed, and for a fleeting second, the world truly did feel like it was celebrating.

---

Summer came with golden afternoons and nights that stretched endlessly.

They found themselves at the rooftop of her apartment building, watching the city lights flicker below. Mira sat cross-legged, an open book on her lap, but she wasn't reading. Instead, she was watching Noah as he spoke about his childhood summers—of running barefoot through his grandmother’s orchard, of chasing fireflies until the sky swallowed the last light.

"You talk about it like it was magic," she said, smiling.

"Maybe it was."

She leaned back on her elbows, gazing at the stars. "I always wanted that. A place that feels like it belongs to me."

He turned to her, studying her profile against the backdrop of the city. "Maybe you’ll find it."

She didn't answer right away. Then, softly, "Maybe I already have."

His breath caught.

Neither of them looked away.

---

The shift was subtle, like the changing of tides.

They stopped saying goodbye at the bus stop. Instead, they walked together, side by side, as if the streets belonged to them alone. He started keeping a book in his bag, one of her recommendations, so he could tell her his thoughts on it the moment he saw her.

One evening, she fell asleep with her head on his shoulder during a late train ride. He stayed perfectly still, afraid that if he moved, the moment would slip away. The warmth of her, the steady rhythm of her breath—it was a kind of quiet he had never known before.

When the train stopped, he gently nudged her awake. She blinked at him, dazed, then smiled—a soft, sleepy thing. "You didn't wake me sooner."

"You looked peaceful."

She didn't move right away. Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, she said, "I always am with you."

He didn't sleep that night. His heart wouldn't let him.

---

Autumn returned, circling back like a well-loved story.

One crisp afternoon, they found themselves at the park again, beneath the same cherry blossom tree—now shedding golden leaves instead of petals.

Mira was quiet, tracing invisible patterns on the bench between them.

"I have to go," she said finally.

Noah's chest tightened. "Go?"

She nodded, exhaling slowly. "An opportunity. A place that might finally feel like it belongs to me."

His fingers curled into fists against his thighs. He wanted to ask her to stay. He wanted to tell her that maybe she already belonged somewhere. Maybe she didn’t have to go looking.

But he couldn't hold her back. He never could.

"When?"

"Two weeks."

The days blurred into something bittersweet. They still met at the bus stop, still shared coffee and laughter and stories. But now, every moment felt like something slipping through his fingers.

On their last evening together, she pressed a book into his hands.

"For you," she said. "So you never run out of things to talk to me about."

He swallowed the lump in his throat. "You’ll have to come back so we can discuss it."

She smiled, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. "Maybe."

Then, she reached up and brushed her fingers against his cheek—a touch so light it could have been the wind.

And then she was gone.

---

Winter arrived again, quiet and relentless.

Noah still stood at the bus stop sometimes, book in hand, as if waiting. As if hoping.

And then, one day, as the snow began to fall, a familiar voice broke through the hush.

"Good book?"

His head snapped up.

She stood there, smiling. A little different, a little the same. Their eye still bright, their hands still tracing invisible patterns in the air as she spoke.

His breath caught.

"Yeah," he said, voice steady. "The best."