Drumming her fingers on her left cheek, she sits quietly on the gravel seat and watches the rush hour traffic rolling by. Her damp hair betrays her lack of conscientiousness to carry an umbrella to shelter her from the drizzle. Running her fingers through her hair, she smoothes out the frays and brushes away the water beads as the bus stop packs swiftly with half-opened umbrellas, wet clinging clothes and crying toddlers. Buses come and go. She has been waiting for twenty-eight minutes, but for some reason, she is unusually patient this evening. The air is moist from the afternoon shower and strangely, she doesn’t notice the amber tinted clouds hanging above.

Has not seen her friends in months and meeting them today feels somewhat awkward, especially since she will be leaving the country in a couple of weeks’ time. Since their graduation, she no longer feels the close affinity she once held on to so dearly. It is not unforeseen. In fact, she has been gradually drifting away from their circle over the past year, and now with her new job, the new life is even less accommodating than before. Shaking off the unsettling discomfort, her thoughts wander off to an old boyfriend whom she has promised to return call to. "A promise is a promise," she reasons, only to self-reprimand three seconds later for violating her personal conviction of not staying friends with any old flames. At that point, she looks up and notices that most of the people milling around her are no longer the same ones from a few minutes ago. Biting on her lower lip, she sighs.

Feels a gentle brush against her left arm. She turns around. A young man - deep-set eyes, clean-shaven, about six feet tall, no older than twenty-eight ­ takes the seat beside her. He looks very familiar. Narrowing her brows, she spins into deep recollection. As the pixelated image of the handsome stranger slowly becomes clearer, she sits up with a jolt in her cold seat - he is the man in her dreams! This is the same man who has appeared not once, but twice in her dreams in the past week. That same intense look on his face, the tanned physique, and the sheer feel of his presence transport her right back to dreamland. Her heart begins to pump faster, louder. She turns away from him, afraid that he may see her blushing. After a series of breathing exercises, she calms down and unwittingly eavesdrops on his telephone conversation. It is evident that he is waiting at the wrong bus stop. Bus 51 is at the next stop, further down the street. Moron. She smiles as she mumbles to herself, pretending to look anywhere, anywhere but at him.

Seven more minutes passes and there is still no sign of her bus. Under normal circumstances, she would have called up a friend and bitched about the public transportation’s lack of punctuality. But today, she is actually happy about the endless wait. Having no idea how to behave in front of him, she shuffles her feet, rearranges her shopping bags, fiddles with her mobile phone, and imagines herself the female lead in a movie. She begins painting the scene with two strangers sitting in close proximity at a bus stop, so close and yet so far. With Louis Armstrong's “A kiss to build a dream on” playing in the background, the figures slowly fades behind the busy crowd. Chuckling at her vicarious imagination, she steals a glance at him from the corner of her eye and wonders if he ever dreams of her.

She: Hi.
He: (visibly surprised) Hi.
She: I'm just curious, but have you ever dreamt of me?
He: (eyes widens) Hmm. (pause) No, this can't be real. (pause) Maybe I did.

It could have happened, but she will never know. Her bus arrives before she can muster up the courage to approach him. But of one thing she is absolutely certain: he never caught his bus. He’d been waiting at the wrong bus stop. However, she… she had definitely been at the right one.

Comments, please.         Did you like it? Yes!   No.   Don't know.   your comments