A late-night bus stop. Four strangers. One carrying burnout like a second skin. One staring into the space where a future used to be. One with ink on her hands and nowhere left to go. And one pretending not to be lost. They board the bus without knowing why, only that something isn’t right. By the time the doors open again, they’ll learn that some journeys aren’t measured in time; only in choices made.

What begins at a seemingly ordinary bus stop unravels into a profound meditation on grief, burnout, and the invisible cost of being needed. From liminal platforms to fluorescent office floors, and the lingering afterglow of what might have been, The Farewell Fare moves between the surreal and the painfully familiar. Part ghost story, part emotional autopsy, it’s a novella about the weight we carry, the choices we miss, and the rare, flickering moments where we’re seen.

With sharp dialogue, haunting stillness, and moments of biting dark humour, it peels back the polite mask we wear to get through the day and asks what happens when it slips. Written as a triptych, it invites readers to linger in the quiet spaces between moments, and to decide what, if anything, they’ll carry with them when the bus doors open.