Tuesday, February 15, 2011

What-to-name-it -1

She couldn't meet his eyes. It was a cold day. Still, he made her sweat. She felt his breath on her neck. It made her more uncomfortable. She felt like she had no control. Her hands were busy. She couldn't move. The push and pull that existed between him and her defied gravity, inertia and what not. He could see the solitary bead of sweat moving down her forehead, run through the cheeks and disappear. She tried to push her hair off her face, she indeed looked beautiful. It went on for a while, the push and pull looked wild, beast like. And finally she gave a sigh of relief. It was over. The conductor blew the whistle and she finally got down from the bus.