She Never Said a Word

 

          I was walking along the Strand into work today when I passed a girl sitting at a bus stop on her own. I caught her eye momentarily and then she looked away. The sight of her struck deep into me. Reflecting on the moment now, I can see she looked just like Annabell.

            I carried on walking, the way one does, but I couldn’t get the sight of the girl out of my mind. After a few more paces I turned back and she was still there. I walked directly up to her at the bus stop.

            “Excuse me,” I said.

            She looked up at me half expectantly and half uneasy (one never desires interruption on the streets of London, it’s all too rarely about the time).

            “Hi,” I began, “I was just… er… walking past, and, um, I saw you sitting here. Well, I know you’ll think me totally crazy but I… that is… I… something about you just struck me somehow. I had to stop.”

She flicked her eyes sideways, checking that the world carried on around me – I couldn’t kill her and hide her corpse without being noticed. She looked back up at me.

“Look, can I give you my number?” I pulled out my diary, tore out a page and began to scribble in one swift motion, before she could stop me. “This way there’s no pressure.” I looked down at my feet, “if you think I’m a complete nutter then you can simply forget about this moment, otherwise, perhaps you might think it all romantic?” I looked back up, into her eyes now, and gave her the number. “I hope so, and if so then perhaps you’d send me a text or give me a call and I’ll take you to dinner.”

She smiled, just slightly.

            “Well… er… thanks.” I said, and turned to flee back into the crowd.