The watch flashed "9 pm" as she wiggled past intercepted lines of men staring at her. She assumed the obvious but they found intrigue in her haste. Hurriedly, she climbed into the rugged bus that stood lazily in the corner with its eyes closed.
He found her entry inside very very noisy. From seat number 2, he looked back swiftly, then turned to his immediate right. That was the only empty seat of the bus.
She parked herself there, very carefully, leaving some two inches of space between him and her, struggling with getting her whole somewhat fully inside. He shifted and made more space for her to come in, adjusted his bag, placed his ware on it and continued with what he was doing.
He read and she read.
She examined the book he had on his lap; there were math equations, some blanks hungry for completion and some smudged white spaces angry with tough scribbling. He looked at her palms. They housed an 18th century novel from where words travelled in linear paths through her spectacles, through those brown tinted, blinking eyes into shapeless veins that stretched and strained, throbbing rhythmically.
What are you studying so intently? The right slant in the letters you've scribbled, does that show the neatness of your thoughts? Why do those letters cling on to one another? Those nails, a gentle shade of yellow - why have you cut them so deep, so angrily? Isn't the shaky bus disturbing your concentration? Do you need more space to sit comfortably? Did I unnecessarily disturb you?
Why were you in such a rush when you came in? Where are you travelling to? Isnt it too late to travel alone? Are you comfortably seated? How easy is it reading font that size? How do you manage that speed, 2 pages per minute? Seems like an engaging book, how is it?
Vrooom vroom, the bus was speeding now; clock! The lights were suddenly turned off!
He shut the book angrily, whimpered in his seat, annoyed, and looked straight at the driver as if waiting for some action. Through the edge of his eye he saw her look away, out of the window, as gentle breeze forced her eyes abruptly shut. He sank back into his area and closed his eyes. She waited for a minute to confirm absolute inaction, slipped the book back into her bag and brought out a plastic bag that housed an aloo bun.
She opened it gently and ate softly.
He found her entry inside very very noisy. From seat number 2, he looked back swiftly, then turned to his immediate right. That was the only empty seat of the bus.
She parked herself there, very carefully, leaving some two inches of space between him and her, struggling with getting her whole somewhat fully inside. He shifted and made more space for her to come in, adjusted his bag, placed his ware on it and continued with what he was doing.
He read and she read.
She examined the book he had on his lap; there were math equations, some blanks hungry for completion and some smudged white spaces angry with tough scribbling. He looked at her palms. They housed an 18th century novel from where words travelled in linear paths through her spectacles, through those brown tinted, blinking eyes into shapeless veins that stretched and strained, throbbing rhythmically.
What are you studying so intently? The right slant in the letters you've scribbled, does that show the neatness of your thoughts? Why do those letters cling on to one another? Those nails, a gentle shade of yellow - why have you cut them so deep, so angrily? Isn't the shaky bus disturbing your concentration? Do you need more space to sit comfortably? Did I unnecessarily disturb you?
Why were you in such a rush when you came in? Where are you travelling to? Isnt it too late to travel alone? Are you comfortably seated? How easy is it reading font that size? How do you manage that speed, 2 pages per minute? Seems like an engaging book, how is it?
Vrooom vroom, the bus was speeding now; clock! The lights were suddenly turned off!
He shut the book angrily, whimpered in his seat, annoyed, and looked straight at the driver as if waiting for some action. Through the edge of his eye he saw her look away, out of the window, as gentle breeze forced her eyes abruptly shut. He sank back into his area and closed his eyes. She waited for a minute to confirm absolute inaction, slipped the book back into her bag and brought out a plastic bag that housed an aloo bun.
She opened it gently and ate softly.
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