It is a nice sunny day today—but just a little too cold. Minghui Zhang tucks her head in her jacket’s collar, half awakes. Is the door locked? Does she have everything? She paces up a little, going straight to the bus stop—is the bus here yet? Is the station crowed? Will she able to get on the bus?

She crosses the street. The bus is not here yet. She checks her phone and the app says that it would be here five minutes. She reaches for her metro card and stands aside when she sees a person smoking, frowns a little but does not say anything. John Swell notices the girl in the black jacket, remembers her. A quiet girl living next door with her family, probably just reached eighteen years old…or a little older than that? Can’t really tell, it is always hard to tell Asians’ ages; but he knows that she is Chinese, from a communication that he heard once when he was watering his plants at the front yard. He sees her holding her phone with her left hand, checking the time.

The bus finally arrives. She immediately covers her ears when she hears the sound of the bus tires, so sharp that makes her recalling the sound of nails scratching on blackboard—probably not as severe, but still. She lines up and already can hear people talking in the bus.