Someday
I was in a bus when I woke up from my nap. She was reading a book, it was about travelling. She had said she was an avid reader. From the corner of my eye, in a stealing glance, I could see her beaming in satisfaction on reading that book. She had a pleasant face, not very pretty. But something about her looks, her speech, her eyes had a calming effect on you. She was almost a perfect example of my subjective definition of ‘beautiful’. Subjective I say, because people disagree on my choice. A lot. ‘So you like travelling’, I asked stretching my arms to ward off the laziness in my muscles. She replied an overwhelming ‘yes’, as if she was waiting for me to ask that question. Waiting for any question to which she would answer yes. It was just the way she was, I thought, judging her on the basis of the last two hours, before which she was just a stranger. My first impression was she lived in the moment, every moment. The elements in her universe seemed to be in perfect harmony. ‘W...