Oh My R!

4. A walk to remember

What qualifies as a beginning?

If it's a race, we got starting line.

What about in life?

Our birth!

No. I don't think so. If we call it a beginning of our lives, we'd be
snatching the credits away from the night (or the day) when we were seeded by our father into our mother.

In fact, we cannot place our finger on an event and trace all the way back to figure out where it started.

We would fail.

We won't get to the end of it; in this matter, the start of it.

May be beginnings never exist.

May be they lie at the end of an infinite only god has access to.

Still... There must be a beginning.

At least, as a metaphor.

Perhaps, we could mark something remarkable that happened in our lives, when we least or never expected it, as a beginning; considering the series of positive events and memories unfolded
from it.

And...

One fine morning, in a crowded bus, a not-so-hot young boy caught the attention of a gorgeous young lady; a face that comes up in our minds when we think beauty, teen, pink, and ponytail. Whatever that means.

She was sitting at a window seat in a row reserved for ladies. The seat next to her was empty. Fortunately, that day, the bus was impregnated with more of a male crowd than female, so lots of men were standing; well-mannered enough to not sit at the empty women seats.

The girl, though, didn't feel bad for the drenched_in_sweat stangers standing there, browsed through some of the unknown figures nearby hoping to spot some wrinkled old guy she can offer the seat to; to feel good. That's when his moist eyes caught her attention.

He was standing near her empty seat directly facing her side with his shin brushing against it.

He was carrying a fresh notebook in his left hand and his right hand was tightly clenching the bar above though it's not like he would lose his balance if the driver surprised everyone with a sudden break. The crowd was dense and immovable.

He was in a black shirt with his sleeve rolled down and buttoned. His brown formal pant not at all suited his shirt that was tucked in and no belt. Adding to the beauty, he was wearing a pair of flip flops. It was neither an acceptable formal attire nor a casual outfit. It seemed like he was dressed just to not walk around naked.

The girl didn't seem to mind that, but...

She had never witnessed such a downtrodden face before in her lifetime. She couldn't glance at him without him noticing it considering his position. Still, he wasn't looking at her. He wasn't looking at anything. He was drowned into a sort of limbo evidently suffering from whatever that's happening in his life then. So, she confidentally fixed her gaze on him. On his eyes. She couldn't avoid it. She never imagined a guy in his teens could have a deep suffering of that sort. She didn't have one yet.

He looked harmless.

He looked like a loner battling the demons of the world and beyond.

His eyes were moist but tears were caged. He was firm enough to not let them exit his eyes. There is nothing more evident for a weakness than the rolling tears. And it is an opinion; not a fact.