**Providence…**
**Sophie**
The end of May, and for the second week in a row, the summer heat clung to the streets. Sophie boarded the bus and immediately regretted it. Rush hour meant the vehicle was packed—hot, stifling, bodies pressed together. Her dress stuck to her damp skin as someone jabbed her sharply in the back.
“Move forward, everyone needs to get somewhere. People like you should walk—taking up so much space,” muttered an older woman behind her.
“Look at yourself—hardly a twig either. Move over!” A hoarse man’s voice barked, shoving Sophie so hard, the breath left her lungs.
“Oi, you’ll crush me, you brute!” a woman whined from the back.
The doors slammed shut, and the bus lurched forward. Behind Sophie, the woman and the gruff man kept shoving and snapping at each other.
“What’s got you so nasty, then?”
“Shut it. The air’s thick enough without your stink of booze!”
Sophie couldn’t see them, couldn’t even turn her head—her nose just bumped against someone’s shoulder. The handrails were out of reach, swallowed by the crush. The bus jolted, brakes screeching, then surged forward, tossing passengers like pickles in a jar. They stayed upright only because there was no room to fall. When the bus moved, air slipped through open windows, cooling sweaty faces. But at every red light, the bickering flared again.
Sophie bit her lip, silent, just counting the stops until she could escape—until she could breathe, strip off her damp clothes, and stand under a cold shower. Another jerk of the bus sent bodies swaying.
“Oi, driver! Careful! We’re not logs back here!” the hoarse man shouted. “Bet you’ve got the fan on up front while we roast—”
The bus slowed for the next stop.
“Don’t let anyone else on—we’ll smother each other!” the man snapped. “Anyone getting off?”
“Me! I’m getting off! Open the doors!” Sophie cried, unable to bear the heat and closeness another second.
The doors groaned open, the woman and man spilling out first, Sophie squeezing free last. As she stepped onto the pavement, the woman elbowed her hard in the shoulder.
“Fat cow! Couldn’t walk one stop, could you?”
Sophie had no time to retort. The woman vanished into the crowd, the bus doors wheezing shut. She didn’t wait for the next one. She walked home, choking back tears, the woman’s voice ringing in her ears: *Cow.*
She’d heard it all before—*cow, hippo, mammoth*—back in school. You’d think she’d be used to it, but no. Was it her fault she was big-boned? The doctors found nothing wrong with her.
“Mum, why’d you have me? Who’d want a fat thing like me?” she’d sobbed after school. “Should’ve married someone skinny—then I’d look like you. Now I’m stuck like this.”
“You’re not fat, love—just sturdy. The heart wants what it wants. Your dad was a strapping man, handsome. You take after him. We’ll see who you end up marrying,” Mum would huff.
“I won’t marry anyone. Who’d love me like this?”
“Someone will. Not every man fancies a stick. And mark my words—plenty of slim girls plump up after babies,” Mum would say, patting her shoulder.
Sophie tried diets, starved herself, but her body always rebelled. She jogged in the mornings, earning sneers from willowy girls.
“Thought the pavement was slick—turns out it’s just her sweat,” a boy once laughed, loud enough for her to hear.
She gave up. Stopped jogging, stopped dieting, stopped looking in mirrors.
Then Mum got sick. Even through the grief, Sophie didn’t slim down. Not after the funeral, either.
Now thirty-three, with no love, no family, no joy in sight. *No more buses,* she decided. *I’ll walk.*
But the next day, she found an almost-empty bus waiting. Fate. She boarded, swiped her Oyster card—
A sudden lurch sent her stumbling backward. *I’m going to crack my skull open—*
***
**Oliver**
That morning, Oliver turned the key in his BMW, but the engine just coughed. Five minutes of futile attempts later, he called a tow truck and dropped it at his mate’s garage.
He took a cab to work, late. No rush home—no one waited for him. He considered walking but then spotted a half-empty bus. The 24 went straight to the garage—might as well check on the car.
Later, he’d swear it was fate.
His car breaking down, him boarding that bus, heading not home but to the garage—though a phone call would’ve sufficed. But no. It happened just so, and his life swerved.
He’d married a model-beautiful woman, madly in love. Pride swelled whenever men ogled Charlotte with envy. She was flawless—like a statue. And just as cold.
Charlotte loved only herself, her perfect body. Her world revolved around fad diets, though she had nothing left to lose. Oliver wished she’d gain a few pounds—soften those sharp angles.
She ate rabbit food, served him salads. Soon, he begged for meat.
“Stop whining. Men should watch their weight too. You get lunch at work—that’s enough junk. Dinner should be light. Get fat, and I’ll leave you,” she’d say.
He dreamed of steak, woke up groaning. When desperate, he’d visit Mum, who stuffed him full, muttering, *Should’ve married a proper woman—one who cooks.*
Kids? Charlotte refused.
“I worked too hard for this body. Birth would ruin it. *You’d* leave me after. Want kids? Find some breeder.”
Mum was right. What kind of marriage was this—each cooking alone? A wife who loathed children? He’d loved the Charlotte before the wedding—sweet, warm. This stranger? No. Better alone than starving beside a statue.
They divorced quietly, no fights.
Lonely nights, he dreamed of a family—a cosy wife, kids, Sunday roasts, friends praising her cooking. Christmas panto trips, pies at Grandma’s.
He eyed women at work, on the street, but none stirred him. Skinny beauties? Not anymore.
Then *she* stepped onto the bus.
A woman in a floral dress swiped her Oyster card—
The bus jerked. She flew backward—
Oliver caught her, pulled her close.
In that moment, he knew: He’d always wanted *this*—soft warmth, the weight of her against him, the scent of her shampoo. His heart pounded.
For a breath, they stood tangled. Then she stepped back, turned—
And he drowned in her eyes.
“Sorry—the bus—did I hurt you?”
“Are *you* hurt?”
“No, thanks to you.”
They laughed, relieved. Then her stop came.
He froze. Watched her vanish through the window.
All night, he replayed it. She wasn’t skinny. She was *real*. She’d never starve herself—and why should she? But how to find her?
The garage called next day—car fixed. No more buses. No more chances.
Wait—*her stop.*
He parked there after work, watching. Days passed. Then—
*Her.* Different dress, same smile. His heart leapt.
“Hello. Remember me? The bus?”
She blinked, then grinned. “You saved me.”
“I’ve waited here every day. What’s your name?”
“Sophie.”
“Oliver. Let me drive you.”
“Where? I live *there*.” She pointed to a block of flats.
Damn. Think.
“Let me take you to work tomorrow. Why squeeze onto a bus?”
She stiffened. “Liar. I’m a cow. What do you want from me?”
His chest ached. “When you fell into my arms… I knew I’d been waiting for you.”
At first, Sophie didn’t trust him. After all, who’d love her? But love found her anyway.
They married.
Sophie glowed. Diets never slimmed her, but happiness did.
They say nothing beautifies a woman like being loved.
Truer words were never spoken.
**Lesson?** Maybe the universe knows when to nudge us where we’re meant to be—even if it takes a broken car and a crowded bus to get us there.
