We stood, two perfect strangers, one with a million places to be, the other with no general plan. Or maybe we both had no general plan. Nevertheless, she was beautiful.

A text popped in my inbox, sounding off my tacky ghost notification and distracting me from the beautiful girl. It’s Renee, the best friend and greatest wing chick I’ve ever had.

“What’s up?”

To tell the truth would’ve been simple. I was at a bus station. It was overcast, and I had been ready to open my umbrella and walk the twelve miles home. There was a pretty girl near me. Not that last part, though. I had a significant other then, and it wasn’t this charming lady standing not three feet from me.

The second time the ghost sound went off, the girl turned towards me, her eyes on the phone. What pretty eyes. Clear as the rain that started pouring down from the angels to the tiny bus stop.

My partner reminded me of the rain as well, but not in this pure way that the woman did. They were more of a drip, drip, drip.

Another text came in from Renee, and soon another from my significant other. I decided to silence my phone and hide the distraction from view in the back pocket of my jeans.

The girl was looking at me. Red as a cherry, I checked my watch. The bus was late. Where’s the bus? Nervous, I drummed my fingers on my leg and made a quick glance at her again. She was still looking at me. I did the only thing I knew how to do.

“Hi.”

She grinned, her dazzling white teeth perfect as a military cemetery and brighter than a dozen supernovas. And when she spoke, her voice was brittle and broken.

“Hey.”

I was frozen. The words she spoke had carried no weight, the texts from someone who used expletives as a second language, and her eyes. Her beautiful clear eyes seen through a window of tears.

“Is everything… okay?” Hesitantly, the question slipped from my mouth. Nothing stopped me from asking it, but it seemed the right thing to do.

Her answer was equally as cautious. “Not really. Thanks, stranger.” She was fed up with waiting for the bus, and started heading out of the shelter we had made in the rain.

“Wait!” I ran into the heavy drizzle after her, determined to say something, anything to let her remember me.
“Yeah?” Her tears were indistinguishable from the rain.

I had nothing to say. Anything clever had drained out of my head. Instead, I handed her my umbrella.
“Thanks, stranger.” She stated, her smile no longer plastic and her true imperfect facial features freed from the facade of infatuation.

She walked away, for the final time. And without names, numbers, or astrological signs exchanged, I let her.
And I wasn’t allowed to think this way about her. About girls. Girls like her are supposed to like boys like my partner. Girls like me aren’t supposed to get all flustered when another girl like her comes along.
But just for a second, I let my mind wander.