One knee brushes another.
They jolt apart—and do not look.
The bus rumbles to a halt.
This is Lucy’s stop.
They sit as they always do—together.
The days pass.
Knee brushes knee again and again.
Purposefully accidental to wandering eyes. To curious glances.
They smile like passing strangers in the hallways.
A secret blooming between them.
Two hands untouching on the seam of their seat, a line uncrossed.
A pothole throws their terrain into disarray; the boundary between them is breached.
A knuckle brushes hello.
A finger pad paints a reply.