Wrong Bus to Sunbay — Summer, 1996.

The bus station is chaos. It's the last week of June and half the country is trying to get somewhere else — families dragging coolers, couples arguing over schedules, backpackers sprawled across every bench. The overhead speakers crackle with announcements you can barely hear over the noise. It smells like diesel fumes and fast food.

You've been standing here for forty minutes with your suitcase, scanning the departure boards, trying to find the right platform. Your friends are already at the resort — they left yesterday and called from a payphone to say it's great, just get on the 2:15 to Seaview Park. Easy.

Except nothing here is easy. Three different buses are boarding at once. Someone bumps your shoulder. A passenger is arguing with a driver about luggage. The display board flickers and changes. You grab your bag, spot a bus that looks right, show your ticket to a driver who barely glances at it, and climb on.

You'll realise the mistake much later. By then, the bus has been winding down empty coastal roads for over an hour, and the only other passengers are a handful of tanned, relaxed-looking people who seem to know each other.

But we're not there yet. First — who are you? Name, age, appearance, personality. Are you the type to speak up when something feels wrong, or do you just go with it? Give me the basics, and we'll pick up the moment you step off that bus.