The cold February night was unusually silent; some rare vehicles on the road, no soul in sight; just the distant hum of trucks on the highway, the hazy streetlights and a dog barking somewhere in the neighborhood behind Ranjit.
He was alone at the bus-stop waiting for the last bus home. A cigarette dangled between his fingers, ash accumulating on its tip as it burned away solemnly. He was more occupied with his Facebook-feed; with all the saccharin-sweet trademarks of Valentine’s popping up after every few posts. Throughout the day he’d received emails for products and services reminding him of his status -- that had been single for the past ten years - as if emotions were replaceable with material happiness.
After minutes of the same Valentine’s Day hash-tags and throbbing-heart emojis, he gave up on the phone. It had been a long day at work, visiting stores and supermarkets around the city, and his eyes were beginning to hurt.
Restless, he checked the time on his wrist watch: thirty minutes to midnight. Why wasn’t the bus coming?
He lit up another cigarette, glancing around at the sleepy neighborhood comprising mostly of lower-middle class families. The road was strewn with trash, dust and dung-heaps flattened in the wake of passing vehicles. A soft wind was blowing, carrying around the smell of filth and the warbling of a television—a romantic Hindi track was playing, he recognized the tune.
He was almost surprised to see a woman approaching the bus-stand this late.
Her heels clicked and clacked on the concrete as she crossed the from the opposite side of the empty road. Her appearance was in stark contrast with the squalor of her surroundings: a long-sleeved black top with a plunging neckline and filigreed hems; black, fitting trousers that outlined her long, graceful legs over black stilettos. Her head was covered with a dark woolen scarf, a pair of sunglasses resting at the top. She shone in the light of the streetlight beside the bus-stop, like a nymph walking out of a dream.
She came and sat at the opposite end of the cold steel bench, looking away toward her left for the bus. It didn’t come; neither did her gaze turn to Ranjit for even a second. It was as if he didn’t exist.
In the dim light of the bus-stand her fingers, her stiletto-clad feet were smooth and pale as marble, the exposed cleavage rising and falling with her deep breaths.
“Is the bus always this late?” Ranjit said. His voice came out as a croak. Interacting with beautiful women was a luxury for him and the nervousness showed.
He was almost hoping she would choose to ignore him further when she turned. “I am not from around here so I cannot answer that question. I was told the last ride arrives at eleven twenty-five sharp, that’s it.”
Breathtaking was the only way he could describe her. Although her skin looked white the features were sharp and full. Ranjit’s heart seemed to jump to his throat as the doe-eyes blinked and sparkled; her lips stretched into a smile and it skipped into his mouth.
The slanting cheekbones glazed and moved as she spoke—“Mister, are you okay?”
Ranjit realized his mouth was wide-open. He closed it quickly and gave her an awkward smile. “I’m fine, just fine.” He squashed the half-burnt cigarette beneath his boots. Then as an afterthought he picked it up and dumped it in the overflowing bin nearby.
“Where do you live?” The woman asked, facing him full-frontal.
“Kamla Nagar”—was Ranjit’s sheepish reply.
“That’s almost at the other end of the city. Too bad the cab-companies are on a strike.” She pouted her lips.
“Where do you stay?”
