Thursday, 5 April 2018

A fable

I look at my blue shoes as I walk, with earphones put up, some random music playing so loud that it disconnects me from the world. It's day-time, burning hot, beads of sweat are dripping past my left eyebrow. I don't like summers.

Mindlessly, I look around as I reach the bus stop. The crowd is usual, all the known faces staring at each other, trying to make decent small talks that I'm not a part of. I'm not really interested in talking to anyone here, it's too mainstream and I'm too lazy. Pointless conversations seem to bore me. All I want to avoid is normalcy; I want something extraordinary, something epic that I'll be a part of. As I'm lost in my thoughts, scanning every face, I see him.

He's wearing a beanie, has rather long hair for a guy, and has put on a loose t-shirt and a track pant. He doesn't look quite aware of the people around him, and neither is anyone else there affected by his presence. He's standing alone. He looks visibly uncomfortable and itchy; something must be bothering him. I want to ask him but I don't -- I don't have the guts to do so. He's a stranger and I cannot just walk up to him and ask him what's wrong. Maybe I could, but I don't want to. I'm scared. He has pretty, green eyes that sparkle a little as he looks up and around, but most of the time he's just staring at the ground, maybe thinking something too hard. His eyebrows often seem to rise and in turn creases form on his forehead, and that actually makes him look really adorable.

I realise I'm staring at him, so I look away. I think he saw me looking at him. It's awkward, as I think we'll board the same bus. I just hope he doesn't come up to me and talk. I don't want to be babbling the first time I talk to a guy I found cute in ages.

I'm this socially awkward person, really uncomfortable in groups. I can talk one-to-one very easily, but this guy is really cute. That's exactly where my anxiety kicks in, making it rather difficult for me to utter one single meaningful, comprehensible sentence out of my damned mouth. I'm not holding myself back; it's just that I can't.

My mind races about how much I really liked the guy even though he was caught up all in himself, and how much I want to go up to him and talk to him, but my feet seem to have locked themselves to the ground, making me helplessly unable to move. Even though I feel like going up to him, I decide against it.

My bus arrives and I get on, but he doesn't. My heart sinks, I really wished he'd come aboard, but that's okay. I'll probably never see him again and he'll just be a story I'd tell my friends someday.  He stares at the bus as it goes by, and I look at him until I can't see him anymore. Later I feel like I was creepy, but what's done is done and I can't change that. Neither am I going to meet him ever again, so it doesn't really matter. I'm very convenient that way.


The next day, I'm hoping I don't see him again, considering the obvious fact that I made a fool out of myself the last time. He would think I'm an idiot, which I actually am, but I don't like to confront it through other people. A part of me also wants to see him, why would I not want to see a perfectly amazing person like him? But I'm reluctant to face him, when I'm not even sure if I'm even going to face him or not, and it's just weird.

I walk up to the bus stop hesitantly. I look around, I don't see him. As I'm about to let out a relieved sigh, I spot him, making it really confusing for me as to if I should be happy about it or no. He looks exactly like he did the last time, same clothes, the beanie, confused look concentrated on the ground.

'Shit!' I mumble and look here and there, to find something to hide behind. He shouldn't see me today, not today -- at any cost. I'll let a few days pass and he'd forget me, and then I can start all over again with no previous embarrassment. But there's nothing -- nothing I can hide behind, nobody I can talk to. I take out my phone and pretend to be busy on it, when I'm not even sure if he's even looking at me, let alone if he remembers me as the girl from yesterday.

But what the hell, right? So what if he remembers me? I have to take chances in life, how else will the extraordinary stuff I’m missing out on right now happen to me? I deep breathe, which doesn’t help at all, and I decide I’m going to go talk to him. What’s the worst that could happen? ‘He could hear me.’ Monica’s words sound in my mind like a reflex, and I giggle.

But I’ve decided now. That’s it, I’m going to talk. I gather all the courage I have from every fibre that is there in my body and start walking in his direction. He’s still busy staring at the ground. My heartbeats pace up with every step I take ahead, and despite the loud cacophony, I can hear the thuds of it.

I reach up to him – he’s standing right in front of me, and I’m too nervous, and I know I’m going to do what I do best – blabber. I’m still not giving up though. I muster up all my valour, and I’m surprised at how painfully weird my voice sounds when I say –

“Hi, I’m Alisha. I just happened to see you yesterday and I was hoping we could talk but you didn’t get on the --”

He cuts me off with a dead look on his face as he looks up to me from the ground, aghast. To make sure I'm talking to him, he looks behind him and then again at me, and I point a finger towards him as to confirm it for him that it is, in fact, him who I'm talking to. His green eyes reflect the sunlight from the afternoon skies, and he looks at me with perplexed expressions and total horror.

“You shouldn’t be able to see me.” He finally says.