I can still remember that day clearly.

It was after track practice, the sky darkening with twilight at hand. I was making my way to the bus stop, fishing my pocket for quarters for the bus ride. I found out, to my dismay, that I was short of one; which meant either borrowing from someone I didn’t know at all or waiting for my dad to pick me up at ten. The long, exhausting day already taking its toll on me, I chose the former.

I walked up to a girl of the same age as me or thereabouts and, as politely as I could, asked, “Sorry, but I was wondering if you could spare me a quarter for my bus fare?”

I felt my heart skip a beat when she looked up.

“Oh yeah, sure,” she said, searching her purse. “Here you go.”

She smiled, beautifully and effortlessly, as she handed me the coin.

“Thanks, I’ll, uh, be sure to pay you back,” I said, gulping and trying to smile as easily as she did.

“No, that’s all right.”

She smiled again, and walked towards the road, flagging the approaching bus. Speechless and unsure, I watched as she boarded it, the guttural coughs of the bus engine soon fading into the distance.

I wouldn’t call it love at first sight, but childish as it were, I hoped that our paths would cross again someday, somehow.

I also told my dad that he didn’t have to pick me up after school anymore. I would be all right taking the bus.