Hey. It’s Wren. I’m here with you.

Notice where you are right now. The surface under you. The air on your face. Where your body actually is.

If you can, put your phone face down. Not far. Just out of sight for a minute.

Close your eyes, or just let your focus go soft.

Breathe in through your nose. Out through your mouth.

You’re not late. You’re just here.

Let’s go in.

The Story

You’re stood under the shelter, or a foot outside it, waiting for a number that hasn’t shown up yet.

Cars go past in waves, a run of them, a gap, another run. Above the shelter roof, a screen keeps recalculating: four minutes, then three, then six again for no reason it explains. Someone near you has their headphones up loud enough that you can hear a tinny snare hit leaking out.

None of this is a problem to solve. It’s just Tuesday-afternoon traffic doing what it does.

Four things here aren’t going anywhere:

The post holding up the shelter roof, cold under your hand.

The timetable, yellowed a bit behind its plastic cover.

The curb, rounded smooth at the edge from years of feet.

The road sign further down, catching light off passing headlights.

Pick one. Let your eyes go back to it whenever the road gets loud.

A bus goes by without slowing down. Brakes squeal somewhere further along the road. The screen changes its number again, down, then jumps back up.

Buses cluster. That’s just how it works, three come at once, then a long gap, then three more. It looks random standing here, but it isn’t, not really. Give it a few minutes and you can almost predict the next lull.

Move onto your other foot. Feel what’s actually under you, tarmac, maybe a painted arrow worn half away, solid no matter what’s coming down the road.

Breathe in, three counts. Out, four. The traffic’s got its own timing. Yours runs separately.

Someone next to you checks their phone, locks it, checks it again ten seconds later. You don’t have to match that. Standing here isn’t something you’re failing at.

Look up the road, then back down. Small movement. You can do that as many times as you want, nobody’s counting.

Drop your shoulders if they’ve crept up. Loosen your grip if you’re holding a bag strap too tight.

Go back to your four points, the post, the timetable, the curb, the sign. Same as they were two minutes ago. Nothing about them is in a hurry.

Breathe in, exhaust fumes, wet pavement if it’s been raining, the flat smell of a road just being a road.

Breathe out. Whatever you brought with you that has nothing to do with the bus.

You’re not stuck. You’re just standing at a stop, watching what’s actually there, deciding what to do about it or nothing at all.