At the Bus Stop
On a Thursday afternoon, I was sitting by the window with a book on my lap, my hands pressed against the cover softly. I was marveling at the azure sky, which had not a speck of white on it when I felt a jolt. Instinctively, my arm stretched out to the seat in front, grabbing the first thing that it came in contact with. I huffed and regained my position on the slippery, leather seat.
I looked out of the window and saw a man — a boy sitting on the bench, at the bus stop. I squinted, trying to read the title of the novel resting in his hand. I nodded approvingly.
Yes, it's a wonderful book.
Our eyes met.
I heard the revving of the engine, but it seemed so distant. I could hardly tear my eyes away. And to make matters worse, he wouldn't look away either! The bench was blurring out of my field of vision with the passing second.
My neck grew tired of being wound. A little more to the right and I would have cricked it for sure.
How shameless of me! And of him too!
Rude. We both were.
I sunk into my seat and willed the strange feeling in my stomach to subside.
On a Friday afternoon, I saw him again. I had decided to seat myself beside the same window, convincing myself that I had a newfound favorite. No, not at all in hopes of another glance, really.
Now, what was this feeling in the pit of my stomach?
He had a book on his lap, the same one from yesterday, but his eyes on me. I responded to his inquisitive eyes with a pair of my own, unabashed to the core.
The bus pulled away and I was left with an afterimage of a boy leaning away from the bench.
Perhaps to get a better look at me?
I felt the wirings in my brain come loose. I was practically radiating heat from my face.
I couldn't even dare to subside the butterflies in my stomach, for it brought a strange smile to my lips, wide enough to make my cheeks hurt.
On a Saturday afternoon, I had nothing to do. I had no classes scheduled for that day, yet I took the bus. I banished the sanest thought that hey! I'm wasting time and money to the back of my mind.
I felt the need for some fresh air.
On a bus passing through streets crowded with smoke-emitting, wailing vehicles.
A jolly good time indeed.
I felt my shoulders droop as I sunk into my seat.
The bus stop remained empty as the bus rushed past it.
On a Sunday afternoon, I decided against embarking on what had become an adventure.
Instead, I decided to stay in the vicinity of my cool sheets and stuff my face into my pillow.
One would think I had a lot to do, other than musing about a certain stranger.
I stuffed my face deeper into the pillow.
On a Monday afternoon, I came across familiar eyes, yet an unfamiliar mind. This time around, I learned to avert my eyes.
It's rude to stare!
I looked at him from the corner of my eyes, shielding my gaze carefully with my eyelids. I saw him continue to stare at me, bemusement marring his face.
I leaned back in my seat and sighed.
He never stopped looking at me.
I felt an uncomfortable constriction in my chest, rising all the way up to my throat.
I felt my mind evaporating away to a strange land.
On a Tuesday afternoon, I steadied my nerves.
I chose the usual seat. I waited, waited and waited. My mind was a wreck. I had spent most of the previous evening on how I would face and greet him. I had it all planned, right from the 'hi' to the 'bye,' and preferably 'see you later'.
I shot up from my seat as the bus came to a screeching halt. I rushed to the exit but I faltered down the steps.
I stood there, just one step from the ground, my mouth agape.
"Getting down, Missy?" The driver drawled.
"I'm sorry, no." I squeaked.
I walked back to my seat and sat down, once again beside the fateful window. I felt a slight push against my shoulder.
Friction. A spark.
The boy on the bench at the bus stop was now the boy on the bus. Rather, the boy who sat beside me on the bus.
My heart leaped with joy. I felt a painful curl in my lips.
A/N: I felt that a revamp was in order! Thanks for reading. :)