I know a place just like you said you imagined California. Ocean, beach. If that’s what you dreamed for your birthday, you should totally go. Spend the day there, he texted.

I could tell he felt sorry for me, and to be honest, I felt sorry for myself. What a crappy ending to a genuinely crappy twenty-four hours. Everything crumbled around me: my career, my love life, my accommodation—since the apartment is in David’s name.

The driver’s suggestion was kind, but it was also unusual, and I hesitated at first. But everything that could go wrong had already gone wrong. What else was there? The bus would break down? I’d be attacked by highway pirates? This wasn’t more than the lesser of two evils scenario—sitting for twenty-four hours on a chair in front of an empty terminal and the unknown. And it’s not like I accepted to spend the day with a complete stranger. He’ll just be my guide from a distance. Crazy, as far as ideas go, but seemingly safe.

By the time you get to Carmel, I’ll have an itinerary ready for you.

Why are you being so nice to me? I texted back.

Because nobody deserves to be unhappy on their birthday.

He seems like a good man. Taking the time to do this for me and keeping me company, even if it’s a virtual company. All because I told him it’s my birthday. There are still nice people left in this world. Am I a nice person? Would I have done this for someone else? I don’t know. I’ve been so caught up in my life, I don’t remember the last time I did something selfless. That’s sad.

In line for the bus, I look around at couples and families. I’m the only one who’s alone. I hope this day won’t turn into one of those cautionary stories you tell your kids.

I can’t help but think… if I’d stayed home and waited for David, none of this would’ve happened. What am I saying? That I would’ve preferred I was cheated on as long as I didn’t know it? What kind of person am I? Why would I want that? That’s not love. Come to think of it, I don’t even know if I’ve ever truly experienced love. I’ve cared about people, usually the wrong people. I’ve gotten used to them and our life together, but love… love is a big word.

At the first stop, a young woman wearing what looks like a bridesmaid dress gets on. She’s barefoot. She takes the seat behind me and I unwittingly hear bits and pieces of the conversation with the man next to her. She’s very chatty and in a few minutes, she tells him all about the ex who showed up and how she had to leave. Is she a runaway bridesmaid? I take out my notebook and jot down an idea for what I feel will be a great story, when I hear some more of their conversation. Now she’s asking him about his life, and then they jump to their childhood. That was fast. I’ve never been that friendly toward people I’ve just met. Now they’re playing a ‘twenty questions’ type of game and I chuckle. I have a feeling these two will not need one of my stories to find what they both seem to be looking for.