The rhythmic hum of the Greyhound bus became a backdrop to Bella's internal turmoil. As she travelled further away from New York, her anxiety lessened, but the uncertainty of her destination loomed long. The constant motion of the bus provided a semblance of control in a situation spiralling out of it.
The hours blurred into one another. Bella kept her head low, occasionally glancing out the window at unfamiliar landscapes, each passing mile amplifying the weight of her decisions. She felt both liberated and confined within the narrow confines of her seat.
During brief stops, she cautiously stepped off the bus to purchase essentials—water, snacks, necessities for the journey ahead. The fear of being recognized or traced lingered, prompting her to minimize exposure and interaction. It was
