(continued from before)
However, the driver was still a mystery. About a minute after this thought, a girl’s face peered through the window and then looked down at the foreigner. She had close cropped hair, that blew in a dramatic 70s movie fashion. She had more piercings than Maya had ever seen together in one place. She took the other girl’s face in her left hand and kissed her lightly on the nose.
The foreigner scrunched up her nose, but it was not from disdain. The bus jolted a few steps forward and then again back, Maya could see the driver-girl still staring at the foreigner. There was an expression of pure love on her face. Maya looked away. She felt like a voyager, an outside entity, someone who wasn’t meant to see this intimate exchange of emotion. Maya had no connection with either of them, and yet when she saw the expression she felt pure jealousy rise through her.
When she turned around to look at the Toyota one last time, she saw that it had taken the underpass and gone the other way. She felt a loss at something significant, as if a life altering event had slipped out of her consciousness and she won’t be able to get it back ever. Maya sat there pondering over the image she had just seen. It was like a snapshot in her head. It was a picture of love, intimacy and something that she won’t ever be privy too, again. She was close enough to understand the hidden humour and love in the scene and yet she had let it go willingly.
Even when the bus trudged out of the traffic and into the freeway, Maya sat through her destination, not wanting to get down.
– Painting Stories