Luckless

Darius' eyes finally met those merry brown ones whose attention he had been seeking for a fortnight. He had stood in the aisle unable to control himself from staring down at her. Even as passengers pushed and biffed him in their rush to alight, he stood mesmerised. That was the first day. He had gathered curious looks from passengers at the time. Since then he had exercised restraint.

He took the same bus, the 714 from Dockyard to Marine Lines. The bus lurched heavily, thrusting headlong into the traffic. At every signal, it stopped with the motor still reverberating and then picked up speed overtaking tiny two-wheelers till its next halt. It’s intermittent motion mirroring Darius’ thoughts. He knew that she eyed him, or at least he liked to think that she did. Maybe surreptitiously, her spectacles helping her to steal furtive looks at him. And now as she glanced at him over the sheaf of newspapers she held in her hands, he felt the blood rushing up to his ears. And why not? Wasn't he good-looking, well-built and decently attired?

Her hair was tied in one tight knot at the nape of her neck. Her exposed ankles were always fastened with thin brown straps. Wasn’t her footwear like that of a schoolgirl’s? Brown shoes and black buckles. Only the socks were missing. He smiled. Why did the picture of a homeless owl enter his head whenever he thought about her?

The bus felt unbearably hot. At every detour it took, Darius cursed inwardly. How long would he have to undergo this ordeal? He had saved enough to buy one of those small cars. He lapsed into a pleasant reverie, thinking about driving his car to the bus stop where she’d be waiting. He would roll down the windows in style and offer her a lift. She might refuse at first, shyly and timidly, he would insist and then she’d accept, smiling. He would drive her to work, breathing in her perfume, listening to music, talking and laughing. And then he would do it everyday. Well, almost.

He felt comforted to see her safely ensconced in the place reserved for ladies. It was always the same—the window seat in the third row on the left. She looked oddly familiar. Today, he would get off at Marine Lines and follow her, only to see where she lived. Maybe with her parents or better still in a hostel.

She shifted in her seat, folded her newspapers, collected her bag and got up, wading through the crowd to get to the door. He followed, hoping to alight immediately after her. In his effort to be right behind her, his right foot came heavily on her and left an ugly imprint on her dainty brown shoe. She eyed him with disgust. "You creep! Are you blind or what? Can’t you see where you are going?" she snarled at him. Some passengers snickered. "Sorry," was all he said, before he slipped away.