A love story that never began
It was a peaceful evening. A good time to go home from my temporary residence just to observe the compulsory Muslim public holiday.
The cool breeze of the evening hit my face while it brushed the loose hair resting on my neck through my eyes.
While savouring the moment, the only thought that filled my mind was Tuesday — that rugged, long, not-so-pretty looking fellow — that comes with loads of stress and sometimes a bag of chocolate to ease it just like its older sibling; Monday.
A wild guess was that this Tuesday was going to be filled with rush hours, crazy traffic; as many people would just be heading back to work or home from wherever they spent the holiday.
To crown it all, one has to fight the myth that the not-so-pretty looking fellow determines what the rest of the week holds. Well, the only consolation was that it’s going to be a four-day working week!
I was lost in this thought until I got on a yellow bus and sat at the rear with a fine gentleman who was seated by the window side on my left hand.
He wore a black turtle neck long sleeve and his back-pack was well placed on his laps. I assume he was also heading home from wherever he went. Let’s call him Oh boy.
Oh boy brought out his phone to check some update then hid it back in his pocket. Almost certain he was conscious that the ‘real owners’ might just hijack the phone from him in the slow traffic.
The smell of his perfume filled my nostrils and all the hair on my body stood still as his limb brushed mine. I could tell that he wasn’t so tall, as our shoulders were seated in the same position bringing our faces a few inches apart; all thanks to the four-person per seat sitting position in yellow buses.
One would have thought that this was where my ‘self-acclaimed’ outspokenness would come to play. But no, I was just too shy to talk to him; my eyes were really pushing me.
All the ‘shoot your shot’ stories I’ve read on Twitter couldn’t help me, at least just this once. Even Simi’s song — Joromi that I’ve been jamming all this while couldn’t encourage me to give him my contact. Shame.
As per a highly sensitive person, I could feel that he wanted to talk to me too as I caught him looking at me. Please talk to me, baby; bami soro, dear. I said in my mind, but he didn’t.
I don’t know what held him back, could it be that I was wearing a bitchy resting face? Did I scare him away? Was he scared too? So many questions flooded the mind that was previously thinking about Tuesday.
While another part just wants to stay glued to my phone and watch him stroke his beards with one corner of my eyes, another part wanted to type my contact on my phone and hand it over to him.
Creepy! I thought.
Oh boy didn’t alight at any of the bus stops the grumpy bus conductor was shouting. Is he going to the last bus stop? Yes, I’ve got one last chance to shoot my shot.
We got to Yaba — a suburb in Lagos mainland — I sat in the bus for some seconds without attempting to alight while waiting for the pack to rush off the bus, I thought that could maybe give him a cue. But no, oh boy just walked past me hanging his backpack on his shoulder without saying a word or looking back to at least wink like those Indian movies.
Before I could say Jack Robinson and run after him, he had disappeared; he was drowned in the midst of the about a thousand people going about their business in the market.
To think that I didn’t see clearly his face because it was already dark and the people that usually turn on the street light in Lagos slept off didn’t help the matter.
Maybe this could have been the beginning of a sweet-ending love story, made a new friend or at least reconnect one day like in the movies.
I jejely carried the L and dropped it in my handbag while I strapped it to my chest to avoid the ‘real owners’ from dragging it as I found my way to the next napep to take me home.
Tomorrow is Tuesday.
Copyright ©2020 by Omolara Oseni
