Yes, there are two paths you can go by, but in the long run?


She sits across him on the other rude little jumpseat in the back of the minibus, their knees barely a couple of inches apart.

The heat is oppressive, even after sunset, and especially so as the little vehicle stands stationary with the winds dead at a traffic signal amidst the general annoyed impatience that is everywhere.

The heat, the mugginess, the little rivulets of sweat that soak everything in their path – they all add to the vehemence of her outpourings as she tries hard to get her point across. A futile battle, as he doesn’t deign to look up and simply smiles dismissively while scrolling up and down on his phone, with a textbook thumb-flick. The thumb-flick seems dismissive too, which in some annoying irrational way, adds to the feeling of being slighted.

She leans forward, ever more intense, and grips his arm, as she makes one last effort to make him understand.

He smiles still – unconcerned, remote – looking down at his phone. She withdraws the arm and looks away.

And somewhere in the dark, behind an anonymous pair of witnessing headlights, a heart convulses as a knife is thrust deeper into old wounds, yet unprocessed, not yet glazed over by memories.


So here’s the obligatory disclaimer : I’m not a stalker; no humans or human-like creatures were hurt while writing this; share autos don’t give an arguing couple much privacy.


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