She sat there, fully absorbed in her music, riding public transportation, as she did every day. Every morning at 8:30, she boarded the bus, and pulled her black iPod out of her bag. She would wait for the little apple on the screen to fade away, and she would flip through her music choices. Every afternoon, she would do the same thing. Day in and day out. But she never listened to the same song within a year. No, because that would be too repetitive. It was the same thing, every morning.

“Ms. Beckett. What vill it be today?” Asked the same bus driver. It was the same question as the day before, and every day that Helena could remember. He was always trying to cover his accent. She thought, as she did every day.

“Golden Star, by My Brightest Diamond.” She said, retreating to her normal seat, sitting around the normal people. They all nodded at her politely, as they did every day. She sat in the worn, blue bus seat, second from the last. She had never sat anywhere else on bus 258, nor had she ridden any other morning bus. She was dressed in black work pants, a white blouse, and a gray vest; as to be required by the restaurant she worked at. Had worked at for 5 years.

After visiting 4 stops, and the same 6 people getting off at each, as they always did, she stood and took her leave, replaying the song as she walked the three blocks to her job. When she arrived, she said a quick hello to the people she saw every day, and walked to put her bag in the back. She tied her light brown hair in the same bun, and ran the same brown eyeliner around each light brown eye. She applied the pale lip gloss that matched her pale skin. The same brand she had been using for years, of course. She was pretty. Not something that would make you look twice, but pretty enough to notice her as she passed. But she would pay no notice. That would be too out of the ordinary.

She walked over to the same table, and helped the same people she did every morning. The regulars. A coffee, one lump no crème, and a bagel, strawberry jam. An egg, over easy with a piece of buttered toast. The lunch crowd eventually came around, and the same people from the same offices ordered the same things. When they left, Helena cleaned off the tables, said her goodbyes and left. She walked the three blocks back to the bus stop just in time for the 3:15 bus.

As she sat down, she pulled out the same iPod, and turned on the same song from this morning. Everything was the same. The same people, the same stops, the same bus. When she arrived at her stop, she bid the driver farewell and walked down the street.

Now, this story is, of course, a cliché. When Helena Beckett walked up to the bus stop on Wednesday morning, something was different. She checked the black watch on her wrist. 8:34. The bus was late. The bus was never late. She waited. Around 8:42, another bus came. Not bus 258, but bus 195. Was it fate, or was it a bizarre turn of events? Helena got on the bus and greeted the unfamiliar bus driver, and made her way to the back of the bus. She sat in the second seat to the back. Some things may change, but others would not. They had pulled up to the second stop on an unfamiliar route, and Helena had the song Unintended by Muse plugged in her ears. Helena watched the four people board the bus. The first three being ordinary suits and ties. The last though, his shoes were a pair of black converse, obviously worn with age and good use. His pants were fairly tight, and dark. His shirt was a thin white t-shirt with some sort of pale blue print on it, and he had a black jacket. When Helena met his eyes, he was standing beside her. He grinned.

He sat down beside her, and crossed one leg over the other before pulling a similar black iPod out of his pocket. Helena secretly assessed his face, taking in all of the small details. His hair was such a dark brown, most would have thought it was black, but she knew it wasn’t so. His eyes were a bright blue. Nothing extraordinary, but nice. His face was thin enough so that she could see his defined jaw and high cheekbones. The way his dark hair fell close to his face, but never in his eyes. It clung to his head, and he had a few bits sticking up at the top. He had a girlish appeal, but obviously was anything but. Little had she noticed, he was looking at her too.

She had honey coloured hair, with darker pieces threaded into it. Age could tell it was natural. She seemed like the kind of girl who would only think of dying her hair, but could never muster up the courage to actually do so. Her skin was a milky white. Something to be desired, but would have been even more beautiful back in the late 1500s. Her lips were full, but not the creepy, fake plump that most girls seemed to have. She had very pale brown eyes. The kind that could only be achieved with coloured contacts or written about in books. Age thought she was beautiful. But he would never say so. Age didn’t like cliché, and this smelled of one if he ever thought so.

And so the two sat there, quietly admiring the other, but quietly. Helena liked the ordinary, and Age didn’t like cliché. That used to be the truth, until they caught note of the song playing on the other’s iPod. It was the same. The same song, the same band, the same album, and the same artwork. The same faceless woman in the short white dress was dancing about on some distant planet. This was too out of the ordinary for Helena, and too clichéd for Age. Their eyes met at the exact same moment. Helena stared, and Age did what he did in all awkward moments. He grinned. Helena took out an ear bud, and Age did the same.

“You’re in my seat.” Age pointed out.

“My bus never came.” Helena replied.

“I’m Age.”

“Helena, it’s a pleasure.”

“I could say the same.”

“Where are you going?”

“Out.”

“No specific place?”

“No. I never go to the same place.” Age said, grinning that moronic grin.

“You don’t have a schedule?”

“Wouldn’t that be too repetitive?”

“Maybe.” Helena answered, looking at her ordinary life. It was simple. Pleasing even. Age looked at her while she was thinking. Her mouth was scrunched up and it looked as though she was glaring at her hands. Age laughed at her expression. She looked up at him in surprise.

“What?” She asked innocently. Age was reminded why clichés were annoying, but she was interesting.

“Come with me today.”

“But I have work!”

“What’s one day?”

“One day!” Age had to laugh at this. The bus suddenly pulled to a stop, and Age couldn’t resist. Neither could Helena, apparently. Age was stronger than he looked. He grabbed her by the hand, and dragged her off the bus.

“Where are we going?” Helena asked as she and Age raced down the street. He took her to a music shop. One she had never been to. Helena didn’t like anything out of the ordinary, but thiswasn’t so bad. He pulled out a few cds. Cds she recognized. And then some she didn’t. She laughed at some of his choices, and in turn he giggled. Yes, I said giggled. Helena laughed at this.All of the men she had ever met had either never laughed, or had a deep rumbling laugh, but never met a man that giggled. It wasn’t a girly giggle, but a happy one. She giggled in return.

After buying a few cds, Age loved cover art; Age dragged her to a small clothing shop.

“Change.” Age said, handing her a credit card. She stared at him. Helena didn’t know what to do. Age poked her in the arm with the card, before sliding it into her pocket.

“I couldn’t!”

“You can, and you will. Believe me. I don’t care.”

“But…”

“I’ll be more disappointed if I have to walk around all day with you dressed like that.” Age pointed out, referring to Helena’s work outfit. Helena sighed, and did as he told her. The clothing in this store wasn’t the kind she would normally have picked out herself. Most of it was clothing you might find an alternative rock star wearing. Military jackets, skinny jeans, t-shirts with bright colours, converse, and that such thing. Helena chose a pair of dark skinny jeans, a light green shirt, and a black jacket similar to Age’s. She paid, and met him outside.

“Much better.” Age said, pulling her into a bookstore. He picked up a few books, before turning to help Helena. She was stuck in a large pile of books, and she was spread out over the floor. Age laughed, before settling himself down with her. Age ignored the part of his mind telling him to leave. That this cliché was beginning to be too much. Little did he know, that Helena was fighting the same battle in her mind as they laughed over the books. This had been the most out of ordinary day she had ever lived. And Helena liked the ordinary.

He took her to lunch, and they ordered the same thing. Something Helena had never ordered. They talked about all that they could. Laughing, giggling, telling stupid stories. He walked her to her bus stop. The 3:15 bus. They bid each other goodbye, and he turned down the street. She pulled out her iPod and turned on Unintended. She smiled, as the bus turned onto her street, and she went home, carrying the day’s profits.

The next day, the 8:30 bus was there, and it was bus 258. Helena was disappointed. She was wearing her work outfit, but she had on the jacket Age had bought for her.

“Ms. Beckett. I am most sorry, I was sick. What did you listen to yesterday?” The regular bus driver asked.

“Unintended by Muse.”

“Ah! I see. What vill you be listening to today?”

“Unintended.”

“The same song?”

“Yes.” Helena said, walking past the driver as he watched her in surprise. She never listened to the same song. She sat in the same seat, hoping that she would run into Age again. But she knew better. He never did the same thing in one day. So she went back to her usual schedule. The same bus, the same people, the same job, the same food, everything the same. And now, she listened to the same song.

This went on for two weeks. Every day, Helena forgot a little more about her day with Age. But the jacket had now become a part of her daily routine. Then, one day, after an ordinary morning, as she stepped into the restaurant, something was different.

“We’re under new management. Someone bought the restaurant.” Said one of the chefs. Helena could only wonder who it was. “They said he’ll stop in sometime next week.” He told Helena. She nodded, and went about her work.

The next day, instead of the normal pale blue, the walls of the restaurant had been painted a warm red. The tables were black, and there was more of a café feel.

“New uniforms! We’ve got new uniforms!” One of the other girls cried. There was a choice of a short black skirt, with a long sleeved black button down and a red tie, or tight black pants with a red shirt and black vest. Helena chose the pants. The outfit matched her coat. Things were getting a little too out of the ordinary for Helena. It reminded her of Age.

The next day, the food was different, and there were different people in the restaurant. Café now, Helena corrected herself. She served different people every day, who ordered different things. This, to her, was becoming ordinary.

It was Friday. The day the new owner was supposed to come in and meet the staff. Helena waited impatiently, so she could go back to her ordinary day. Well, she had been impatient, until someone walked in the door. This was out of the ordinary. And Age didn’t like clichés. If you guessed who walked in the door, you were right. It was Age. Because this story is a cliché.

Age’s eyes met hers after a moment. And that grin spread over his features. He gave a short speech about the new café, but never broke eye contact with Helena. He explained that there would be a stage erected, and live music would be playing. He wanted to make the community more active in live performances. To give the young people a chance to make it big. All of this he said, never breaking eye contact with the blushing Helena. He said that he was going to be hanging about all day, and told everyone to carry on. The costumers came filing in, as Helena served them all. She could feel Age’s eyes on her.

“Helena, can I talk to you?” Age asked, tired of just watching her. She walked over to him. It was the busiest time at the café, and she was working. She stood a fair distance from him, giving a good 5 feet between them. Age stepped closer, closing the distance to about six inches.

“I missed you.” He said, taking her hands in his. All worries of costumers flew out of her head.

“Me too.” She said, as he pulled her closer.

“Anything out of the ordinary happen to you recently?” He asked grinning, not caring that many people were watching them. Helena was nervous.

“Maybe.” Helena said, giggling. Age was out of the ordinary, and she was beginning to like it. Age didn’t like clichés, but this one wasn’t so bad. Almost everyone in the café was watching Age and Helena. Waiting for something. And yes, that something does happen. Age leaned down a little bit, and pressed his mouth to Helena’s. If Age had watched this story from our point of view, before it even happened, he would have been disgusted by the cliché. He didn’t seem so disgusted now. Age and Helena broke their kiss, but he kept his forehead pressed to hers. They were both grinning. Everyone around them watched the scene unfold, thinking it was like one from a movie. Not every man bought a restaurant in order to kiss the woman he liked. But if you look closely, every relationship has some sort of cliché.

Age didn’t mind cliché now, and in fact, he enjoyed it. And Helena looked forward to Age and the out of ordinary events he brought with him. Every relationship has something special. It carries a story unlike anything else. But every romance is a cliché. Because it happens to almost everyone. No matter how unintended it may be.

A.N.! : Ok, it's fixed! I know that the spelling of story was bugging some people, so I figured I'd finally fix it. ...and I did...I have a friend who's name is Storie, so once in a while I spell it wrong. She actually got it, so now I'm fixing it! Yay! Age is actually a Norwegian name. I forget what it means but...eh...anyways, I think I'm going to do more one shots like this. It was a fun run, which I wrote in about and hour and a half. So...eh...I'm just going to ...eh...leave now...Cheers! -K.