Shifted Weight

Rain slid down the smudged bus window,

faces blurred, pressed close like lost things.

The bus was late,

and I sat too tired to care,

heels dragging on the cracked floor.

A woman folded her newspaper, hesitated,

then slid her seat toward me without a word.

I didn’t look up—too caught in my head,

but her eyes held a question,

waiting in the space between silence and thanks.

The bus creaked, the city murmured,

and for a moment,

something shifted—

a weight lifted or settled

right beside my seat.