Take My Hand.

*I had a date with the girls last Saturday, and we had a short talk about being braver and care-free when we were younger. We used to write stories before. I used to write stories before… of magic, adventure, romance…
So here’s me trying to revive that child-like sense of creativity and wonder. I have to stop being too conscious of what other people will think of my words. There used to be a time when I didn’t need a moment to think about what happens next in my stories. The characters had a life of their own. One step at a time, I shall unfold their lives once more. Thank you, girlfriends, for the inspiration! *


Erin looked over the misty window of the bus that was swiftly making its way down the bridge. It was raining, but at least she managed to miss the sudden downpour by a few seconds, as she luckily stepped into the bus at the right second. It was cold, and rubbing her hands together the entire time didn’t seem to make a difference to her freezing knuckles. An 8am start on a Monday morning never worked. For Erin, it was the worst hour of the worst day of the week.

She looked around her fellow passengers and grimly took pleasure in the fact that she wasn’t the only one feeling gloomy and sulky.

There were assignments to be done, lessons to be studied, and tests to prepare for. She felt lousy for missing all the fun and exciting parts of the weekend. Her friends had gone out and tried the new club downtown. One of their girlfriends, they shared, had a grand time getting down on the dance floor with this handsome, delicious, young man who claimed to be an exchange student from France (of course, no one cared that time if this impossible man did speak the truth, as alcohol and atmosphere were taken together and consumed that night).
Take a deep breath. Sigh.There was also that part-time job to (dread) look forward to. It wasn’t that she needed the money. She just wanted to take some steps towards independence and freedom. She needed her parents to see that she was a successful, young, woman, capable of taking care of herself. Even if it meant smelling like a deep-fried, oily mess, five times a week.

From there, it was hard to see how her mood was ever going to improve.

They soon arrive at their destination. The bus stops and everyone gets down.She was ready to surrender to another hectic week. It seemed like everyone just wanted to do the same, and get it over with. They were all rushing, running, their backs turned towards her.

Except one.

Slowly, calmly. This time walking not away from her, but towards her.
A few more steps, then halt.
She looks up at him.He looks down at her.

Suddenly her heart was alive, and she couldn’t help but smile.He leans down to kiss her.
“I’ve been waiting for you,” he teases tenderly.
It starts to rain, drop by drop. They share an umbrella.
He takes her hand and they start to walk.
“Horrible weather,” he remarks.
Silence for a few steps. She squeezes his warm hand, and his hold on hers tightens. Again, unbelievable to her, she smiles.
“I don’t mind,” she finally says. “It will be alright.”


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