(disclaimer: all characters mentioned are pieces of fiction. any resemblance to anybody is purely coincidental)
That pretty girl
The sun had just risen up, and was pacing up into the sky as the shadow of the trees by the turn of the street grew shorter. The bright yellow rays brought colour to everything else that lay on the street - the black tar, the grass by its side and the garbage that flew onto it overnight. The wintry dew couldn't wait to drop from the tip of a bent, spineless blade of grass.
I crossed the street and sat on the empty seat at the bus stop to wait for the bus going to the West. There are usually more people going the other way in the morning. While I sat alone here, a few people waited on the other side of the street. College, perhaps. Or, the IT professionals? It was hard to tell. They all look young.
In the East-most end of the shed, sat this girl clad in pink-and-green salwar. It was a narrow street, you could see people on the other side well. People would come and go every day, I wouldn't notice. But she, this girl looked so pretty.
She was engrossed in a book. Must've been a novel. The people around her didn't seem to bother her. She must've had long hair, they looked plaited. But a strand of hair danced by the side of her face. Sun rays hit her face through the strand of dangling hair, making the hair look golden brown and the face yellow. Her diamond ear-ring reflected other colours in the rainbow at my direction.
She would look up once in a while, while she turned pages. She would look to the West, anticipating her bus to show up, then turn her left wrist inwards, check the time, and go back to reading. Her hand looked thinner and longer than I would've imagined. No nail-polish. A continuous flow of light, wheatish brown colour, like the branches of a tree.
Her eyes were jet black. It was darker than the night that had just vanished. She had her eyelashes lined with kajal. It made her eyes stand out, intoxicating the onlooker. It seemed like her eyelashes were protecting us from the intoxicating eyes it shielded, but was itself beautiful enough to woo attention. Her nose had a bend on the bridge. The nose made her look cute. If she had been a baby, I would've pinched her nose. Her lips, unfazed by the winter, had no cracks, and always seemed to bring out a smile. Must've been the book, I thought. The slightly protruding chin completed her beautiful face.
She wasn't fat, nor was she thin. Her schoolmates wouldn't have made fun of her weight. Nor would any of them have hassled her for her figure. She looked like a girl next door, just that I would have had to live in Venus.
Her bus must've been approaching, she brought out her dupatta, also green in colour. And she tucked her book inside. Something was wrong, she was looking for something. Her eyes opened wide, and her little black eyeballs in the white socket looked like a photo-negative of the full moon in night sky. She found what she was looking for- the bookmark which she thought fell off her seat, was actually placed safely at the end of the book, something she must've forgotten while swimming in the story.
She zipped her bag close. And in one flurry of arm-swing, she draped herself with her dupatta, and got up from her seat. And as she got up and wore the bag over her shoulders, she looked across the street right into my eye, no eyelids blocking the sight this time. She turned to her right, and walked to the bus. Yes, her hair was plaited. Long, smooth, dropped straight down like the Nile. She then half turned her head, and looked again. Her eyes can freeze you. She smiled, she blushed, she shook her head twice, buckled her pace up and boarded the bus.
All I could do was watch the bus grunt down the street and turn right, arms still folded, eyelids yet to bat, air feeling lighter. She must be the most beautiful girl on earth.