The first or The last


Her long auburn hair played with the wind as she glanced anxiously at the watch, 17:57 it displayed. One could see the sun setting all the way down the road, but the bus supposed to be at 17:50 was nowhere to be seen. The bus had to be late today only, she thought aloud.

“I’ll just wait for a few more minutes”, he said to the waiter for the fifth time, trying not to look directly into his eyes. Sitting here for the past half a hour, he dreaded asking himself, had he been stood up?

The old machine finally turned round the corner, creeping up slowly to the bus stop. Driver passed a toothless smile and she got on. Only 40 minutes, looking again at the watch, he won’t mind me being 20 minutes late, she comforted herself. And the bus along with her hopes moved.

It was enough, he angrily mumbled to himself, getting up to leave the cafe, just as he saw her entering the cafe. Her red hair shining, curls frolicking around her head as she walked. Supporting himself with the handles of the seat, he slowly sank into it.

That must be him. Fidgeting with her hair, she nervously walked towards the table he was sitting on, debating whether to start with an apology or with a greeting. “Sorry for being this late,” she apologized, his stern eyes, were not something she could look directly into.

It’s fine, he made an attempt to comfort her out of her uneasiness, as she took off her scarf, then proceeded to remove her sunglasses, after which she removed the purse slinging from her arm onto the chair next to hers. Bemused, even in these times he couldn’t help but smile, wondering how much can a single woman carry.

Let’s make this quick, she said, trying not to look at him. Here are the divorce papers, I have signed my part, only you have to sign, and then you’ll be free to pursue your own path and I, mine.

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