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My heart skipped a beat, and air filled my lungs. There was something so penetrating about his stare. He held my gaze longer than usual. Normally, our eyes met for a second, maybe two, but never a prolonged moment like this one. It was jarring. There was a small change in his expression, his brows knitting together and his jaw tensing. His attention was on my face, in particular the redness around my eyes.
Was he … concerned?
Time seemed to stand still. For some inexplicable reason, I couldn’t look away from him. I was vaguely aware of others moving by us to board the bus, but I was mostly held captive by his eyes. Now I saw they were neither grey nor green. They were a mesmerising combination of both.
A swarm of butterflies swept through my stomach until I realised it was just the two of us standing on the damp, leaf covered pavement.
Some intangible thread seemed to string us together until I tore my gaze away from his and quickly boarded the bus. I swiped my travel card and took my usual seat, three rows from the front, next to the window. I kept my eyes down as I sensed him pass, the final person to board before the driver pulled away from the stop and merged with traffic.
I was weirdly attuned to his presence. I always knew if he was close. A faint tingling at the back of my neck usually alerted me. I didn’t have to look to know he sat two rows behind me. He never took the window seat, instead preferring the aisle. I couldn’t tell if it were because he liked the freedom to exit without anyone having to stand up for him or, as I often wondered with a strange fluttery sensation in my stomach, because the position allowed him a better view of where I was sitting?
Normally, I enjoyed his attention. It was pathetically one of the most exciting parts of my day to be so watched by a virtual stranger. But not today. Today, I’d been torn apart by Mrs Reynolds, and I simply wished to disappear until I could sew back together the pieces of my shredded confidence.
I stared out the window as the bus travelled from the south side of the city, through the busy centre, and across to the other side. I lived in Phibsborough, on the north side of Dublin, not too far from where I grew up. It was a vibrant community, originally working class but a little bit gentrified now.
The trip took close to forty minutes, and the entire time, I wondered if he were still watching me. It started to rain, condensation building on the window and casting the city in a hazy glow behind the glass.
Being late Autumn, it was beginning to get darker in the evenings, which I wasn’t a fan of. I disliked waiting around in the dark for the bus, even if there were other people about.
Soon, we reached my stop. Well, our stop. I knew he’d be getting off just behind me. It was probably the most electrifying part of the journey, feeling his presence as we alighted. Then, when we were on the street, I’d turn left, heading to my flat, and he’d turn right, going in the direction of some place unknown to me.
He always stayed a good distance behind me, but not today. I rose from my seat and made my way down the aisle to the exit, zipping up my coat and fixing my scarf. That was when the faintest scent of aftershave hit my nose. Something fresh and citrusy, with a hint of ocean spray. Tiny hairs on the back of my neck stood on end as I shifted my gaze a fraction to the side. Air caught in my lungs. He was right there, barely an inch behind me. I could practically feel the warmth of him. When he exhaled a sigh of breath, I felt it hit the back of my neck, stirring a few loose strands of my hair. My palms grew clammy as I held onto the cool metal bar, and my pulse quickened.
I was so aware of him, his heat, his closeness. Everything. My insides thrummed, my mind going haywire. I quickly faced forward as the bus came to a stop. It felt like I was moving in slow motion as I stepped off, and then, almost like I imagined it, his arm brushed briefly against mine.
My heart hammered, but I was too full of nerves to look back. I turned left, just as I always did, in the direction of home. In the few minutes it took me to reach my flat, my thoughts raced. Forgotten were my tears caused by Mrs Reynolds. Now, my mind was consumed by him.
