I left the episode unfinished.

I was seventeen minutes from the end of an episode and nineteen minutes from home, according to two different apps. This felt like a small obligation I had accidentally arranged for myself.

The episode was interesting. So were the three waiting behind it. After a day of calls, I nevertheless did not want another person explaining something into my ears.

I put the headphones in the front pocket of my bag and got on the bus.

Quiet was relative.

There was an engine, a conversation near the door and the usual announcements. I had not found silence. I had stopped adding another layer of sound.

At a long red light, I could hear the indicator clicking. Someone behind me was working patiently at the zip on a bag. When the zip finally moved, the sound was followed by a small, satisfied "there".

At the next stop, someone boarded carrying a flat bakery box in both hands. They sat down very carefully. For the next two corners I found myself leaning with them, privately concerned about a cake I had never seen.

The queue could remain a queue.

My hand reached for the headphones once. I left them where they were. I did not need to prove I could go without them; I simply preferred the bus noises that day.

When I reached home, the episode still had seventeen minutes left. Nothing had been lost except the chance to mark it finished before dinner.

I listened to the rest while cooking the next evening. It was still interesting, and I was more interested in hearing it then.

Now I sometimes start the journey by choosing what I want to hear. Music, a friend on a call, an episode, or whatever is already happening around me. The headphones are useful. So is remembering that putting them on is a choice rather than the first required step after boarding.