Fate…
Bethany
Late May, and for the second week in a row, the heatwave had settled in. Bethany boarded the bus and instantly regretted it. Rush hour was packed—crowded, stuffy, and stifling. Bodies pressed in from all sides, her dress clinging to her damp skin. Someone jabbed her sharply in the back.
“Move forward, everyone’s got places to be. Someone like you ought to walk—taking up all this space,” grumbled an older woman’s voice behind her.
“Look who’s talking. Move over!” a raspy man barked, shoving Bethany so hard the air left her lungs.
“Oi, you’re crushing me, you brute!” a woman behind squeaked.
The doors slammed shut, and the bus lurched forward. Behind Bethany, the woman and the raspy man bickered.
“What’s your problem, eh?”
“You shut it. It’s hard enough to breathe without your beer breath stinking up the place,” the woman shot back.
Bethany couldn’t see them—couldn’t even turn her head without bumping into someone’s shoulder. No chance of reaching the handrails either. Packed like sardines, every jolt of the bus sent passengers swaying, compacting tighter. The only relief came from the breeze through the open windows—gone the second the bus braked at traffic lights.
Bethany bit her lip, tuning out the grumbling. She just wanted to get off, breathe fresh air, get home, peel off her damp clothes, and step under a cool shower. The bus jerked again, everyone tilting sideways.
“Oi, driver! Careful—we’re not logs back here!” the raspy man shouted. “Bet you’ve got your fan on up front while we roast!”
Another lurch as the bus slowed for the next stop.
“Don’t let anyone else on—we’ll suffocate!” the man hollered. “Anyone getting off?”
“Me! Let me out!” Bethany cried, done with the heat and the crush.
The doors groaned open, releasing the woman and the raspy man first. As Bethany squeezed past, the woman elbowed her hard.
“Fat cow! Couldn’t just walk one stop?”
The doors shut before Bethany could retort. She didn’t wait for the next bus—just walked home, swallowing tears. That nasty voice echoed in her ears: *Fat cow.*
She’d heard it all before—cow, hippo, mammoth—since school. You’d think she’d be used to it by now. But how was it her fault she was big-boned? Doctors found nothing wrong with her.
“Mum, why’d you have me? Who’d ever want someone this fat?” she’d sobbed after school. “Should’ve picked a skinny bloke. Then I’d be slim like you.”
“You’re not fat, love—you’re sturdy. Can’t help who you fall for. Your dad was a strapping lad, proper handsome. You take after him. Wait till you marry—see who fancies *you*,” Mum scolded.
“I won’t marry. Who’d love me like this?”
“They will, sweetheart. Not every bloke wants a twig. Plenty of slim girls end up plump after kids,” Mum reassured.
Bethany tried diets, starving herself, but her body rebelled. Even jogging ended when a smug couple snickered, “Oi, no wonder the pavement’s slippery—must be the lard spilling over.”
She gave up. Avoided mirrors.
Then Mum fell ill. Even grief didn’t slim her. At thirty-three, love and joy felt like distant myths. *No more buses*, she decided. *I’ll walk.*
But the next day, a near-empty bus pulled up. Fate, eh? She boarded, swiping her Oyster card—when the bus lurched forward. Bethany staggered, flung backward. *I’m gonna crack my head open—*
***
Liam
That morning, Liam turned the key—nothing. Five minutes of futile cranking later, he called a tow truck, dropping the car at his mate’s garage. A taxi got him to work late.
No one waited at home, so he fancied a stroll—until a half-empty bus approached. When was the last time he’d taken public transport? The 24 went straight to the garage. Why not?
Later, he’d swear it was fate—the car breaking, him boarding that bus, heading *away* from home. His life changed that day.
He’d married a stunner, Rachel—all cheekbones and angles. Proud? Bloody right. Men gawped; women seethed. But Rachel was cold as marble, obsessed with kale salads and her reflection.
“Stop whinging. Men should watch their weight too. You get lunch at work—plenty of junk there. Dinner’s light. Get fat, and I’ll leave you,” she’d say.
Liam dreamed of roast beef, waking hungry. His mum fed him proper when he visited, muttering, “You picked a looker, but can she even cook? Find a lass who makes pies, not rabbit food.”
Rachel scoffed at kids. “I worked *hard* for this body. Want me wrecked by childbirth? Go knock up some chubby girl if you’re desperate.”
They split quietly. Alone, Liam craved a real family—kids, Sunday roasts, friends praising his wife’s cooking. He eyed women differently now, avoiding the skeletal ones.
At the bus stop, a curvy girl in a floral dress boarded. She tapped her Oyster card—then the bus jerked. She flew backward, straight into Liam’s arms. Warm, soft, smelling of coconut shampoo. His heart hammered.
They stood frozen, pressed close, before she pulled away. Her eyes—*bloody hell*.
“Sorry! That was— Did I squash you?” she breathed.
“You alright?”
“Thanks to you.”
They babbled about near-disasters before she exited. Liam, dazed, watched her vanish.
All night, he replayed it. *Her*. Not skinny, not starved—real. Those eyes. Where was she?
Next day, the garage called: car fixed. No more buses. No more *her*.
Wait—he knew her stop. After work, he parked, scanning bus passengers. Days later—*there*. Different dress, same girl. His heart leapt.
“Hey—remember me? The bus?”
She blinked, then smiled. “You saved me.”
“Couldn’t forget you,” he admitted. “I’ve been waiting here every day. What’s your name?”
“Bethany.”
“Liam. Let me drive you.”
“Where? That’s my block.” She pointed.
Damn. Desperate, he blurted, “Let me take you to work tomorrow. Better than the bus.”
She eyed him. “Why? I’m built like a cow. What d’you want?”
“You *hurt* me.” He grinned. “When you fell into me, I knew—I’d been waiting for you.”
Bethany didn’t believe him at first. But love proved her wrong. They married.
Happiness slimmed her more than any diet. Funny, that—how love’s the best beauty treatment.
