He was compact-sized without looking small; with movements that exuded the charm of a dancer and a certain air of fragility she knew was sweetness and not weakness. Once, he wore baby colors and it took all the willpower in her not to go hug what she thought was a living male doll! He had just enough hair on his head to earn a glance every now and then and a charm and ease she wanted to identify with. The first time he spoke within earshot, she caught the familiar Igbo accent in his voice; like music to her ears. She wanted to say something...anything...but nothing came out of her mouth. 

It became a regular habit to seek him out among bobs of heads, roles of seats; heart doing a frenzied dance upon sighting the object of her interest,eyes averting quickly in mock disinterest.

 She hated having to feel this way. Having to search so longingly for a complete stranger who was probably oblivious to her own existence. “Complete stranger??” Why did her soul seem to berate her at the mere thought of those words? Wasn’t he?...

   Fate,connections unwittingly created with complete strangers that acutely made you aware of their presence, love; all these sounded surreal to her. Only existing in books she read and movies she watched. Experiencing them in reality now only made her think perhaps, fairytales were real after all. 

 

To be continued...

 

Credit: GlowRayy.

 

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