EXT. TOWN BUS STOP - NIGHT
Samira runs into the shelter and finds Eli at the yellow line with a small suitcase, their mother's old house key, and a paper ticket. Moon-bright glass hides the driver's seat.
Eli
You found me faster than I expected. I left three wrong turns in the note.
Samira
Step away from the door. Right now. I do not care how clever your note was.
Eli
You should care that the bus is not on the timetable.
Samira
That is the strongest reason not to climb into it.
Eli
The sign says Last Bus to the Moon.
Samira
Signs break. Last month number six claimed it was going to the aquarium.
Eli
Number six had a route number, a driver, and wheels that touched the road. Look.
Samira
I see a bus with blacked-out windows parked after service. That is not magic. That is a police report.
Eli
Police reports usually come with tickets printed in Mom's handwriting.
Samira
Where did you get that?
Eli
Inside her astronomy atlas, under the page called Places We Still Need to Go.
Samira
That atlas was sealed in my moving box.
Eli
Your tape folds left when you rush. The ticket was waiting for both of us.
Samira takes the ticket without crossing the yellow line. Its paper is warm despite the cold air, and a crescent-shaped punch removes one corner.
Samira
It says one passenger.
Eli
Hold it under the shelter light. The date is tonight, and the departure is midnight.
Samira
Ten hours before movers take our house. Whoever made this knew enough to frighten you.
Eli
Or Mom made it before she got sick, because she knew we would need it tonight.
Samira
There is no road to the moon, Eli. There is barely a road past the quarry.
Eli
I know. I am thirteen, not a decorative moon cushion. But this bus should not be here.
Samira
Then we agree. We walk home, wake Dad, and call someone who owns a flashlight and authority.
Eli
I need to give Mom her key first.
Samira
You brought the house key? Dad has been searching every box since dinner.
Eli
She said she would need it when she came back. Tomorrow it opens somebody else's front door.
Samira
Mom cannot use a key. You know that.
Eli
I know. That is why I need to stop keeping it ready for her.
Samira
We can leave it at her tree in the morning. We do not climb onto a ghost bus to return property.
Eli
The tree is where everyone else decided she belongs. She always said she loved us to the moon and back.
Samira
That was an expression, not travel advice. She also said you could eat broccoli if you pretended it was tiny trees.
Eli
I know what an expression is. I also know you have not said her name in six months.
Samira
Do not turn grief into a dare. Get your suitcase.
Eli
Home is packed in a van. You start college in two weeks, Dad works nights, and every room already echoes. Which part do you mean?
Samira
The part with people who know where you are and doors that do not disappear at midnight.
Eli
You make plans like emergency exits. You never ask whether I want to leave the room.
Samira
I kept breakfast happening, forms signed, and Dad upright. Moving is what kept us from falling apart.
Eli
You kept moving so fast that none of us could stop where Mom was missing.
Samira
Do not use her to make this bus safe.
The silver bus lowers with a soft mechanical sigh. No driver appears. The shelter clock clicks to 11:58, and pale letters surface along the ticket's edge.
Eli
I am using the truth to make you stop.
Samira
If you put one foot inside, I go with you. I will not let the last thing she left take you alone.
Eli
Good. That is what I have been waiting for.
Samira
You planned to scare me into boarding?
Eli
I planned to make you read the silver line. Two siblings. One truth each. No door closes until both can return.
Samira
My truth is that if this reaches her, I am afraid I will ask to stay. I am angry she died, and I am terrified she would see how badly I have managed without her.
Eli
That is enough. We do not have to board. I wanted you at the stop with me, not stranded on the moon.
Eli places the key in her open palm but keeps hold of its ring. Samira tears the ticket cleanly in half and gives him one piece. The bus doors close without a passenger. Its sign changes from MOON to HOME before it rolls soundlessly into the dark.
Samira
Give me the key. Not so I can take it from you. I want us to carry it together until we choose where it belongs.