Every day she waited for him at the bus stop.

It didn't matter what day it was. Monday. Tuesday. Saturday. Sunday. Every day she would be sitting there on that rusted metallic bench under the black metal awning, back pressed uncomfortably against the framed lists of bus stops, eyes fervently scanning the sparse passing crowd for his face.

Some days he would come. Some days he wouldn't.

Each time he arrived the same way. His hands shoved deep into his jeans pockets, his posture straight and impassive, his apathetic eyes lazily set forward as he strode without hindrance.

He never sat down on the bench next to her, like she so badly wished. Instead, he would only stand on the curb, searching for the bus he waited to board. The closest he'd ever come to her was when he merely brushed her sleeve while studying the bus routes. Just that touch had send electricity through her veins and into her heart.

Usually he came to the bus stop alone. But there were rare incidents when he did bring a companion with him, always a girl. Always a girl, never the same one twice. They were all pretty beyond comparison. It was all the same. Luscious lips, flowing hair, flawless skin, perfect bodies.

On those days, she just wanted to curl up and cry.

They'd never exchanged words. Although in her dreams they did. In her dreams, they exchanged so many words, filled with deep feelings that made her mind swoon and her heart beat faster. In fact, in her dreams he'd uttered those three words to her countless times.

But in reality, he hadn't so much as glanced her way.

She cried at night sometimes. Why did love have to be so heartbreakingly unrequited? Why did so love this man who hadn't so much as ever glanced her way? Why did she still try to seek his affection?

Sometimes, on the days when he didn't show up, she would look up to realize that the seat next to her – the one she wished so badly that he would take – would be filled by a boy. He didn't have any particular heartthrob features, unlike him. But this boy was nice.

After the third incident when he'd sat down next to her on a no-show day, he introduced himself as John. Rather startled by his introduction, she established her own name. And from then on, the conversations initiated.

John was friendly, never overbearing, with a placid simple and kind brown eyes. He never failed to make her laugh, even when she was feeling more downcast than usual. He asked about her life, her family, her hobbies, her identity.

He made her feel important. Seen. Loved.

In fact, John started coming not only on the days when he didn't show up, but on the days that he did manage to arrive. And on those days, John would watch her with scrutinizing eyes that she pretended to ignore as she watched him walk by gracefully, perfect and unflawed, beautiful by fate.

One day, John had watched her as she wistfully watched him get on the bus, a backpack slung over his perfectly sculpted shoulders with ease. He ran a hand through his raven locks effortlessly, boarding the bus as he did so. Within minutes of his arrival, he was gone.

"You're here everyday, huh." It wasn't a question. The way John said it; it came out more like an accusation. She flinched at his words.

"Yeah, so what?" The words had come out snippier than she'd intended. But that didn't matter. She was somewhat humiliated that he'd noticed.

John was quiet for a second. Finally, biting his lip, he replied, "Do you even know his name?"

She was silent. In truth, she didn't know a single thing about him. All she knew was that he was gorgeous and she was nonexistent to him. "…Shut up," she snapped to him.

"Does he know…your name?"

Again she refrained from speaking. She didn't want him breaking reality over her head. She would've rather preferred to live in her thoughtless fantasy where he, indeed, did love her. "Be quiet."

"Does he know anything about you? Like your hobbies, or your personality, or your life? Does he know a single thing about you?"

That's when she snapped. She knew it all, but she'd buried it so deep within her consciousness that she'd managed to painfully overlook it every morning when she'd wait for him at the bus stop. "Just stop talking, John!"

He glanced at her curiously, only to be met with her tear-filled doe-like eyes. "Just shut up already!" she hollered, drawing the attention of others at the bus stop. But she didn't care. "I – I…I…" She couldn't say it. She honestly couldn't admit to loving this boy she had no knowledge on. Instead, she sputtered, "I don't need you, John."

Angrily she shoved him away with her palms, watching irately as he merely gazed back at her with completely honest eyes. The tears blurred her vision as scampered away, ignoring the curious stares of other bus passengers. She ran all the way home until she collapsed on the bed, trying her best to hold in tears.

Why did John have to be so…

…so right?

She fell asleep miserably that night, assaulted with the turmoil of truth.

The next morning, she awoke to prepare for her routine. Get dressed in her best outfit, wait for hours as the bus stop, then leave after he'd arrived. It was the same every day.

John's words flickered across her mind. The whole conversation replayed in her mind, and she felt assaulted by reality once more. Finally, when the sadness subsided, she glanced at the outfit in her hands.

A cute top and tight jeans. They were totally uncomfortable, but that was what every girl he brought with him wore. A container of lip gloss sat forlornly on her counter, waiting to be smeared onto her lips only to be forgotten. The material of the clothes felt foreign in her hands.

Slowly, she returned to the closet with heavy steps, placing the tight jeans and top back on their respective hangers. Instead, she pulled off a comfortable oversized t-shirt that she hadn't worn since she'd first seen him at the bus stop. Uncertainly she pulled it on, ignoring the protests of the cute top.

You need me to win him over! Don't you want to win him?

…What's the point of winning somebody who has never even looked my way?

That morning she left the lip gloss tube untouched as she left her bedroom, glancing back only once to give the cute top and tight jeans a rueful grimace. She didn't need him.

Then she left her bedroom. She was going to find John. She owed him an apology.

And for the first time in months, she didn't go to the bus stop to wait for him.