Mira didn't believe in destiny.
She believed in bus schedules, Google Maps, and carrying a power bank at all times. Destiny didn't help when you missed the 4:15 PM bus from her tiny riverside town.
But that afternoon, destiny—or maybe just poor timing—made her miss it anyway.
The sky over the river was turning liquid gold. Boats drifted lazily across the water, their reflections trembling like shy secrets. Mira stood there, backpack slung over one shoulder, annoyed but mesmerized.
She had a habit of photographing sunsets. Not for Instagram. Not for likes. Just for herself. She liked collecting moments that proved the world could be soft.
She lifted her camera.
"Careful," a voice said behind her. "The light's better if you wait ten seconds."
She turned.
There he was. A stranger. Tall. Wind-tousled hair. That annoying calm confidence some people just have. He pointed toward the horizon. "See that cloud? When it shifts, the gold deepens."
Mira blinked. "Are you… sunset coaching me?"
"Free trial," he said. "Full subscription costs tea."
She almost laughed. Almost.
The cloud shifted.
The gold deepened.
She snapped the photo.
Okay. Fine. He wasn't wrong.
"See?" he said, hands in pockets. "Patience."
She studied him. "You just hang around giving strangers lighting advice?"
"Only the ones who look like they're chasing something."
That landed deeper than she expected.
"I'm not chasing anything," she said quickly.
He tilted his head like he didn't believe her. "Sure."
The next bus wasn't for another hour. She checked. Twice. He noticed.
"You missed it?" he asked.
"Yes."
"Good."
She frowned. "Excuse me?"
"There's a night market opening up five minutes from here. Lanterns. Street music. Questionable but life-changing food. Missing the bus might be the best thing that happens to you today."
Mira hesitated.
She didn't do spontaneous. She liked plans. Lists. Certainty.
But the sky was glowing like the world was on fire in the gentlest way possible.
And something inside her—something tired of being predictable—whispered, why not?
"Fine," she said. "But if the food kills me, I'm haunting you."
He grinned. "Deal."
The night market felt like stepping into another universe.
Lanterns swayed overhead, casting warm orange halos on everything. The air smelled like grilled spices and sugar. Someone was playing an old acoustic guitar near the riverbank.
Mira felt… lighter.
They tried fried pastries dusted in cinnamon. Spicy noodles that made her eyes water. Sweet iced tea served in plastic cups too thin to trust.
He introduced himself somewhere between bites. "I'm Arin."
"Mira."
He repeated her name like it meant something. "You live here?"
"Not exactly. I'm leaving soon."
"For?"
She looked toward the dark river. "University. Big city. New life."
"Excited?"
"Yes." A beat. "And terrified."
He nodded like that made perfect sense.
They wandered past stalls selling handmade bracelets and vintage books. At one booth, an elderly woman was painting tiny landscapes on scraps of wood.
Mira stopped.
Each painting was a sunset.
Arin leaned closer. "Looks familiar."
"They're beautiful," Mira whispered.
The woman smiled at her. "Choose one."
Mira scanned them. One had a river. One had mountains. One had a wide open sky with no buildings at all.
She picked the one with the open sky.
"Ah," the woman said. "You like space."
Arin glanced at her. "Told you. Chasing something."
Mira didn't argue this time.
Later, they climbed a small hill overlooking the river. The market noise softened into a distant hum.
The moon reflected silver over the water now.
"Why sunsets?" Arin asked.
She hugged her knees. "Because they end. And they're still beautiful. I think that's comforting."
He was quiet for a moment.
"Or," he said softly, "maybe they don't end. Maybe they just move somewhere else."
She looked at him.
He wasn't joking now.
The breeze picked up, cool and steady. For a second, everything felt suspended—like the universe was holding its breath.
"I don't want to be small forever," Mira admitted. The words slipped out before she could stop them. "I don't want to just exist. I want… something big. Something that scares me."
Arin smiled gently. "Then go find it."
"You say that like it's easy."
"It's not. That's why it's worth it."
She studied his face in the moonlight, trying to memorize it without meaning to.
"Do you ever think," she said, "that some people are just… passing through your story?"
"All the time."
"And you're okay with that?"
He looked out at the river. "Sometimes passing through is the whole point."
That should've felt sad.
It didn't.
It felt honest.
When the last bus headlights appeared in the distance, Mira's stomach twisted unexpectedly.
They walked back down the hill slowly.
At the stop, the world felt smaller again. Normal. Predictable.
"Guess this is it," she said.
"For now."
She hesitated. "We didn't exchange numbers."
"Nope."
"That's very irresponsible in 2026."
He laughed softly. "If we're meant to meet again, we will."
She rolled her eyes. "You're dangerously close to sounding like destiny."
"Maybe I believe in it."
She stepped onto the bus, then turned back.
"Hey," she called.
"Yeah?"
"Thanks. For the sunset."
He smiled in that calm, steady way that made her chest ache just a little.
"Go chase something, Mira."
The doors closed.
The bus pulled away.
She watched him grow smaller through the window until he blurred into the streetlights.
Months later, in the chaos of the city—crowded streets, tall buildings, impossible dreams—Mira sometimes felt overwhelmed.
But whenever she did, she'd pull out the tiny wooden painting of the open sky from her bag.
And she'd remember the night she missed the bus.
The night she chose adventure over certainty.
The night a stranger reminded her that endings can glow.
One evening, standing on the rooftop of her university dorm, she lifted her camera toward another sunset.
The light shifted.
The gold deepened.
She smiled.
"Ten seconds," she whispered to herself.
And somewhere—maybe by another river, maybe under another sky—she liked to think someone was watching the same sun slip below the horizon.
Not an ending,
Just moving somewhere else.