Challenge 27: Write a story about a romance beginning, or a romance ending.

As part of short story. I am revisiting the 30 Day Writing Challenge. Not sticking to any particular order, I’m going to write just as inspiration hits. Earlier today I was shopping and while waiting for the bus stop, cold reddened hands gripping on to my shopping bags, I watched an exchange between two people. It wasn’t anything particularly exciting, nor did it have the makings of juicy gossip. Just a reuniting of old friends, I presume. In any case, as I was looking through the challenges I had left to write, the beginning of a romance made me think of the exchange I had witnessed.

So here it is in fictional form.

I hope you enjoy.

A Chance Encounter.

In all my many years, I have been witness to all manner of emotional exchanges. In my youth, I watched as my parents grew apart and eventually fell out of love. Their parting was amicable, they remained friends, but the way they now interacted was new territory. In my mid teens, whilst at a birthday meal, I was in awe as a young man declared his love for the woman he was dining with, dropping to one knee and asking her to be his bride. It had filled my heart with warmth, only for it to be extinguished on the ride home when our car was forced to stop as a very public argument spilled out into the road.

In my mid twenties, my grandfather died and I was introduced to the raw grief one can feel at the loss of a loved one. My mothers eyes had remained empty and emotionless in the weeks that had followed and my own heart felt hollow. The following year I met and fell in love with my husband and shortly after we welcomed our daughter in to the world. In that moment I felt the strongest emotion of all. Unconditional love and devotion in a way I had never experienced before. It was awe-inspiring, heart achingly sweet and all consuming.

I watched my raven haired beauty grow and flourish, until somehow the years had flown by and she was a woman making her own way in the world. In that time, though I hadn’t noticed at the time, I had become an old woman with a lifetime of memories and emotions under my belt.

Each one was mapped on my face as I looked in the mirror each day, the lines on my face a journey of my life. The crinkles at the corner of my eyes were the times I had laughed, shared joy with my husband and daughter. The wrinkled bags under my eyes told of the sleepless nights after the loss of my parents when the world had seemed a darker place. The worry lines of my forehead were in thanks to my daughter and the illness that had plagued her as a child. They were the constant financial troubles, the uncertainty of the future and the evidence of family life.

When one gets older,, the inevitability of death becomes a much more daunting prospect. It had only been a year since I had lost my husband and I expected I would follow him soon after. There is no cure for a broken heart after all and the desire to be with him once more outweighed the the ability I had to live. However, I was not brave enough to leave on my own terms and so I stayed I watched. With all the uncertainty about life after death, it was comforting to know that life would continue after I left this world.

But this is not my story.

I arrived at the bus stop much too early, the appointment with the doctor having taken less time than expected. Across the road, the inviting smell of the coffee shop met my nose, carried towards me by the wind that battered my body. The cold had been biting into my fingers despite the thick gloves that covered them and while the coffee shop beckoned me with warmth and comfort, I knew my legs would never make the short journey.

I took shelter in the bus shelter and while the cold was not beaten, I at least had protection from the harsh winds. I glanced at the empty space on the bench, watched as others shuffled along to make more room and I grimaced. Although the idea of sitting was appealing to my aching limbs, the prospect of the cold metal against my rear gave me pause for thought. However the need to take the weight off my legs outweighed my objections and with thanks to the others, I took a seat.

Immediately I wish I hadn’t. The cold spread from my buttocks down my legs causing each ache and pain to increase in intensity. This wasn’t the relief I had been seeking but it was a momentary discomfort as my body either became accustomed to the temperature or simply went numb. I couldn’t tell which.

As I settled in for my long wait, I glanced longingly at the coffee shop once more, consoling myself with the idea of a warm tea once I got home. Perhaps I’d even treat myself to a bourbon biscuit, though I could already see my doctor shaking his head in disapproval.

Beside me, a lady of my age shivered and pulled her coat further around her small frame. Despite my own discomfort, I was ready to offer my own coat to her as added protection. However, being an old lady myself, I knew that we were tougher than we looked and even as the words formed on my lips, I bit them back. It wouldn’t have mattered anyway, her bus came moments later and she was soon settled and protected by it’s warmth.

Her seat was replaced by a much younger woman pushing a pram in front of her. Though her eyes were glued to her phone, her perfectly manicured nails racing across the screen, she manoeuvred the pram like a pro.

Unable to resists, as we old ladies are apt, I peeked inside to gaze at the sleeping beauty laid there. Perfectly content and protected from the elements, she slept peacefully apparently unconcerned with her mother smacking a piece of gum between her lips. I, on the other hand, found the noise rather irritating. I had just opened my mouth to say something when another bus, unfortunately not my own, pulled up. A young woman stepped off with a shriek, joined by the woman beside me. The noise was enough to hurt even my aged ear drums and it was with a relieved sigh from me that they walked off together. Somehow, Sleeping Beauty still slept soundly.

Behind the shrieking girl was a young man who looked to be pushing thirty. As he departed the bus, he looked around and grimaced no doubt as unhappy with the weather as I. He reluctantly began to move before doing a double take, glancing back to the far end of the bus shelter. I followed his gaze to the pretty girl leaning against the wall of the shelter. Ignoring the disgruntled noises from his fellow passengers behind him, he changed directions and approached the girl.

Curiously, I watched as he lightly touched her shoulder, noting the nervous chuckle as he apologised for startling her.

“Are you Melanie Crossbird?” I heard him ask, noting his grin as she nodded. Unfortunately as the bus rumbled back into life, I missed his following sentence, his low tones drowned out by the noise of the vehicle. But as her eyes widened in recognition, I guessed they were old friends, perhaps from school. She tucked her hair behind her ear and gave him a tentative smile.

Not wanting to pry on their moment, I dragged my eyes away and looked down at my watch. Although it had seemed time had stood still, the bus I had been waiting for was drawing ever closer. I thought back to the warm beverage waiting for me but found it was no longer holding my attention. Instead, my eyes were drawn back to the couple at the end of the shelter.

Now exchanging phone numbers, I caught the light blush on her cheeks and the excitement in her eyes. Her expression was one of both awe and affection and I felt warmth spread through my cold body.

I had seen that look before. In the earlier days of my parents marriage, before things had started to go wrong, it was a look my mother often gave my father. It was the same expression my daughter had upon bringing her boyfriend home for the first time and I was sure it was the same way I gazed at my dearest husband.

It was the look you gave a person when your soul recognised it’s counterpart in an other. As I watched, the young lady glanced down at her watch and chewed her lip before nodding. I guessed that she was putting off previous engagements to spend more time with the man she had been reunited with.

As the walked off together, their arms brushing against one another, my bus finally pulled up. I forced myself to stand, ignoring the protests from my limbs and clambered on to the bus. As I settled myself in the seat, I looked over to the coffee shop and caught my last sight of them. He held the door open for her like a perfect gentleman. As the bus started moving, they became lost in the sea of people crowded for a cuppa. Despite the warmth that still lingered in my heart, by the time I arrived home I had forgotten them, more concerned with the promise of a cup of tea and bourbon biscuit.

Until next time,

Lisa x