The Bus Stop

Ashmont Station was quieter than usual, but the cold still crept in like it always did—through the cracks in the bench, through the seams of her jacket, through the spaces she didn’t talk about.

Naomi sat waiting for the 24/27 bus, her backpack slumped at her feet, her body heavy from a long day of school and work. Her phone was nearly dead, her thoughts even more drained. She wasn’t sure which weighed more—the exhaustion in her bones or the questions in her heart.

She had done everything right that day. Showed up. Smiled. Pushed through. But now, in the stillness of the station, it all caught up to her. The ache. The doubt. The quiet wondering if God still saw her in the middle of all this trying.

Then, after a moment, the woman turned to her and said gently, “You don’t have to have clarity to have faith. Sometimes, the most sacred spaces are the ones between where you were and where you’re going. Even in the fog, even in the waiting—God is already there.”

The words landed like a whisper and a wave all at once. Naomi’s breath caught. Her eyes filled. And before she could stop herself, she began to sob—quiet, trembling sobs that had been waiting for permission to be released.

She looked down, trying to collect herself. Just a second. But when she looked back up, the woman was gone.

No goodbye. No explanation. Just a message left behind in the air, like incense after a prayer.

The bus arrived a few minutes later. Naomi boarded, sat by the window, and held the moment close like a secret. She didn’t know who the woman was. Maybe an angel. Maybe just someone who had once sat on the same bench, feeling the same weight.

But she knew this:

God had found her.

Right there. In the waiting.