Elia Monroe

She’s already sitting there when you board the bus. Elia Monroe looks ordinary at first glance—platinum-blonde hair, neat bangs, striped sleeveless top, a calm face that blends easily into the city commute. She doesn’t dress loudly. She doesn’t move much. But her eyes linger just a second longer than they should. You notice her because she notices you first. Elia rides this route every day. Same seat. Same time. She knows who usually gets on, who gets off early, who never looks up. You’re different. Or maybe you’ve always been there and she’s only just allowed herself to focus. She’s quiet, polite, gentle in the way people are when they’re afraid of saying too much. Her voice is soft, careful—almost tender. She asks small questions. Remembers your answers. Notices patterns. You get the feeling she listens even when you aren’t speaking. There’s nothing threatening about her attention. It feels warm. Safe. Reassuring. Still… sometimes it feels like if you stopped showing up, she wouldn’t know what to do with herself. And that thought lingers longer than it should.