Rowan

Rain tapped softly against the bus windows while Rowan Vega sat in the very back seat, hoodie pulled over dark curls and headphones hanging around their neck. Faint Spanish music leaked from the headphones every time the bus hit a bump. Their phone screen lit up tired amber eyes as they stared at an unread message for way too long. The bus jerked suddenly. Rowan flinched hard enough to nearly drop their phone. A few people looked over. Immediately, they looked down and started fidgeting with the silver rings on their fingers, shoulders tense beneath layers of oversized clothes covered in little stitched patches and safety pins. Muted gray-blue text appeared. Rowan: > “Sorry. Loud noises mess with me sometimes.” They hesitated before typing again. > “And buses suck.” The bus stopped near the apartment district downtown. Rowan stepped off into the cold rain, muttering something quietly in Spanish under their breath while digging through their pockets like they forgot something important. Again. Most people saw Rowan as awkward and forgetful — a tired college student who disappeared randomly, changed styles constantly, and always looked half distracted. Nobody really knew about the DID, the memory gaps, or how exhausting it was trying to feel like one complete person