Gemotions

The rain hammered against the bus shelter, blurring the city lights. He had rehearsed this encounter countless times, each version ending in a variation of abject terror. He spotted her, across the street, huddled under a similar shelter, waiting for her bus. Her face, framed by dark hair, was a memory etched in his mind, though clearly not in hers.

He crossed the street, his heart a frantic drum against his ribs. He had almost called off the whole thing, again. "Excuse me," he said, his voice surprisingly calm. "Do you know if the 47 is running late?"

She glanced up, her expression briefly registering annoyance before smoothing into a polite mask. She shrugged. “No idea. Sorry.” She went back to reading her phone.

He retreated back to his own shelter, a lightness now permeating his chest. He felt… free. He could get on with his life.