Conversation

Barely six a.m. and she is at the depot in a bright red tee. She checks the number on the bus and gets in.
Seat by the window, obviously.
She sits looking out the window for longer than a few seconds, rocks back and forth a couple of times, looks behind her at the door, and settles down. Pulls out a book.
Barely a few words and tracing the bookmark a few times later, he comes. Sits next to her. They look at each other. She goes back to the open page. Not that she was reading or even intended to.
He brings the book to a close, with her fingers in it, so he can read the title.
“Hmm, you should read Coetzee”.
She does not say a thing. Looks at his liquid eyes and the layers of emotions and thoughts that they contain, and says indicating at the book, “Do you know why mosquitoes sing in ears?”
He smiles, nods his head. Her voice begins to get animated.
“One day mosquito went to ear and asked her to marry him”.
He smiles a wider one, there is light in his eyes.
“The ear laughed and refused saying ‘Look at you. You are a skeleton. How long do you think you will live?’
That is why the mosquito sings into ear every time he goes past her, to remind ear that he is still alive.”
They both chuckle, and he responds saying “Happy New Year”.
“Yeah. Is he West African, Coetzee?”
“No, South African”.
“Not sure if I will like him.”
“You can try. Give him a chance. He won the Nobel”.
They chuckle some more.
It is about three hours later. They are at a coffee shop. He is eating a sandwich, and she has a carrot cookie in her hand. The chances of her eating it were slim, though.
She plonks her hand on the table. He reaches out and puts the bangles together. Their eyes rest on their hands together, for a moment.
The air warms up. They both feel it. The touch lingered.

The mosquito-ear story is from Chinua Achebe’s Things fall apart.