Things and places always reminded me of times and people. This was always the way it happened. Objects brought more meaning to life. Strange? May be not!
She sat there, watching passerby's.
The wind was subtle. The place – crowded. There was little space left to maneuver; even for the wind. Probably why it remained subtle.
It could have been an hour, or may be even 2. The rains delayed the bus by a few hours. The not-so-dirty bench at the rear end of the platform was convenient. To watch, to smile, to smirk and to remain inert; immune to the chaos around.
Being the mute participant in multiple conversations, she continued to write... a story of borrowed characters and stolen dialogues. Little truth that captured the smell of sweat and wet iron of rusty buses made it real.
It kept her busy. Occupied.
And then he called….
Hence, another incomplete story.