HE’S TAKEN
In my haste, I failed to notice my fellow nine-to-five workers trotting toward their various destinations. Creating a story about their lives and personalities from how they dressed, walked and looked was always my source of entertainment on my way to the bus stop. But not today. He was always there at exactly five twenty-five pm. So, I had to be at the bus stop before five twenty pm if I was going to achieve my plans.
Serah, my friend and colleague said I was a stalker but honestly am not. I came upon this privileged piece of information by walking behind him to the bus stop three consecutive days in a row and boarding the same bus from work. Even though she said this happened because I always watched from my office window to see when he would exit the building since his office was on the ground floor and mine the second. But still, that doesn’t make me a stalker, right?
Yesterday, I finally decided on making the first move after I heard him talking and laughing on the phone during the ride on the bus. It was amazing to watch and listen to. His baritone voice could win an
Oscar if he were ever to release an album, and there was something about his accent, not too British to sound boring but not too Nigerian either such that it was easy to guess he must have studied abroad, or had some kind of exposure to foreign culture. I think they teach that in Nigerian schools now, I mean how to sound foreign. And don’t like me get started on how the laughter lit up his face and gave him the look of an extremely young and handsome movie star, or about his height or clothes that hung perfectly to his figure. Stop, stop, I tell myself, trying to silence this voice in my
brain humming – Serah was right, stalker!
No! she wasn’t, I replied to the voice in defense, I just noticed these things because I pay attention.
My Dad always says desiring something is good and desiring something good is even better, so this is me desiring something better because damn, he is so good. And then there is that saying about Mohammed and the mountain.
After what seemed like a walk against time, I was finally at the bus stop. Checking my wristwatch, it was sixteen minutes past five. I pulled out my phone and used it to check my reflection just to be sure the make-up I had applied before leaving the office hadn’t been smeared on my way here. I bought my ticket and selected the seat on the third row left beside the centre aisle. He always sat here, beside the window. I was just getting comfy when this fat man walked up to me asking if he could go in. Of all the empty seats in the bus, why this one, I thought. I didn’t even bother
replying all I did was give him my most scary look and it had him scouting away.
Ah, here he comes, today, he is wearing a t-shirt and ripped jeans. The shirt fitted to his chest and muscles giving him a super sexy look. Immediately I saw him entering the bus, I put on my brightest smile and waved at him. Looking unsure, he walked up to me and said a weak hi.
Instead of getting in, he was going to walk past. Like just walk past me, never.
“Hi, I kept this seat for you when I noticed the bus was almost filled.” I said smiling.
“Oh, you did, but we haven’t even met before.” Mr Handsome said in his accented baritone
voice.
“Yes, we haven’t but we work in the same building and take the same bus back every day.”
“Wow, thank you, but am sorry my wife dropped by today, so we will just get a seat at the back where we can sit together, thanks again.” He said smiling as he walked away.
That was when I noticed he was holding her hand the whole time. A pretty-looking lady also dressed in ripped jeans and a tank top. She was holding a tote bag and a canvas, most likely an artist. They walked to the last row at the back where there were still empty seats, and he let her sit beside the window.
