Why I noticed her. I don’t know. Glancing through the usual crowd, my eyes made a reverse at her. Why? She had something about her. Grace I think. Grace is so easy to notice yet so difficult to understand. It lies behind your lashes, behind the rhythm of your hand, behind your spine. It hides there, never to come out in the limelight. As subtle as it could mean. But oh so visible. She had grace. Grace of a dancer. She was bargaining with a lady over ten rupees, doing the calculations in her head, doubtful, gaining confidence only when another passenger nodded. Her eyes, her hands, her chin had that rhythm. Hope etched in her innocent eyes. Which she wouldn’t talk about. But it spilled, through her. Seeped in her every action and every gesture. Beauty doesn’t escape a mind, it shows itself, hope shows itself and grace, grace is so hard not to catch an eye.