Last Valentine’s day, while sweeping the platforms at the railway station just before the end of my shift, I couldn’t help but notice this gorgeous guy sitting on one of the benches. He was wearing a business suit, silk tie and shiny black shoes, and was holding a bouquet of red roses. He’d been there for a while but didn’t get on any of the trains. He just sat there waiting for his girl to arrive, and she never did.
‘Do you think they broke up? Perhaps he was planning to propose tonight, and she ran away with someone else! Oh my God, what if she died on the way here?’
Medhavi just rolled her eyes and went back to her post at the ticket window. When I went home, sometime later, the poor fellow was still there, still weeping. His image stayed in my mind’s eye long after I left the station.
A few days later, I spotted his face in the peak hour crowd. More than anything, I immediately recognised his baby blue eyes. He was wearing jeans and a torn t-shirt this time and instead of roses he was carrying a battered backpack. How different he looked in that outfit! He was standing against the wall, chatting with two other blokes.
The distinct sparkle of a tear caught my attention, before he quickly wiped it with the back of his hand, and kept on talking. I realised he wasn’t crying, he never had been.
He just had some condition that made for watery eyes.