We both saw her come on the bus.
It’s hard not to notice pretty girls.
Julian was sitting up in the front of the bus, wedged in amongst the bags and people, placed atop the amorphous blob of worn green plastic cushioning that fills the awkward space to the left of the driver (driver and wheel are on the right side of vehicles in the commonwealth nations). He looked content. I was in a window seat, third row back, right side of aisle — and the seat to my left was empty.
She sat down next to me.
Indeed, she was pretty. A classic Nepali beauty. Brown skin lady.
But she looked nervous. Was it me? Was it the overwhelming presence of that handsome, large, white foreigner blocking her view of the mountains outside our window? Perhaps she is in love with me. Too soon to tell, I suppose. But…
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