Strangers

A chilling breeze blew near me as I walked down a very…“wintery” path. The pavement was pure white, covered with snow. The tall lamp posts on either side providing assistance to the moonlight’s glow — the only things that made that path visible. I looked to the sides of the road, only to see closed doors and windows, sometimes with silhouettes of well-off people enjoying their privilege. Contrastingly, lower down the street I saw beggars, trembling under the weight of the cold, in little rags used as blankets and occasionally luring out my pity. Unfortunately, I had nothing to share, and so I reluctantly walked off. They did nothing, of course. This was all too familiar to them.

As I neared my destination, I saw a bickering couple — of different tones of skin — arguing about approval and tradition, of religion and belief. I suppose that was a common occurrence too. They say anything is fair in love and war, however as with the Geneva treaty is to war, there are apparently guidelines for love too — just, like the nature of love itself, much more… abstract, unwritten, and strong. Just like a romance story, it might be a different set of rules to different people, a different set of barriers for different kinds of love — but they were there. I despised them, but they were there.

Fortunately, I then arrived at a quiet street with a small us stop on its edge; it was my destination. I let a breath of air escape my lungs, and saw it whiten in front of me. I held my hands together and rubbed them, hoping to receive some warmth in exchange for my troubles. There were no seats in the bus stop — just an iron clad, mean looking sign. For a moment, I thought that the bus drivers may not be able to notice it — given that even it was seemingly covered with snow — so I decided to do them a favor and clean it. It was immediately obvious, however, that the intimidating iron tower before me was more than my admittedly short arms and height could reach.

“Let me help you there miss.” A deep, husky voice said behind me, followed by an extended arm, quite larger than mine, reach the top of the iron sign and brushed off some snow off it. “Would be troublesome had the bus drivers could not see this, won’t you agree?” he said. I looked back to find a rather well built young man, though he was not bulky. His trench coat was covered in what seemed to be a mixture of oil and snow, and his face, rough, yet somehow elegant and kind. He wore a hat like that of a gentleman, but he did not set his hair like one — nor did he do much to the hair on his face. His eyes shone brightly, but showed a sense of complexity in which I could not ascertain in one mere look. Making sure my observation of him had gone unnoticed, I replied with a simple “Indeed”.

He then smiled and took a few steps back, presumably to give me space in which to loiter around until the vehicle in which I would depart with arrived. The man had a peculiar air to him, somewhat warm, comforting, yet mysterious and anxious at the same time. My mother had always told me to stay away from strangers. She felt they were far from trustworthy, unable to be depended upon, and needed to be dealt with cautiously. In spite of this however, ever since I was a little girl, I found the idea of strangers rather… charming. Perhaps even exciting. Perhaps it was because I found innocence in everything and was very — shall we say — attracted to such romance stories, or perhaps, more likely, I was just very naïve. Either way, I liked the idea, and still like it now.

The winter night was quiet, solemn, and somehow blissful. I had remembered all the cars and busses that would pass through the busy roads in daylight in the summer, people walking the streets with their children in hand, perhaps being quiet, or perhaps demanding a treat. Music playing from the upper floors while people shouted to sell their goods on the lower ones. It’s quite eerie, yet somewhat blissful to think that those busy streets were now frozen and empty, only accompanied by the lonesome pair of me and the stranger.

Perhaps in a bid to dismiss the silence, I looked to him and started to open my mouth, to which he looked back at me, as I could not let anything out. What was I to say to a total stranger, after all? I closed my mouth as I felt my face heat up, presumably turning red, and he just smiled. He didn’t seem to mind the sudden outburst of, shall we say, awkwardness, and instead said “Do you know what happens around this time here?”

I shook my head slowly.

“See that window there? Soon, something exquisite will happen there.”

Sure enough, though I was puzzled at first, my heart quickly fluttered with both excitement and awe as a wave of feelings went through my body, triggered by a beautifully played waltz played from what seemed to be a violin. The melody, nostalgic in nature and elegant in tone, as if to banish the winter silence, warmed my heart as the stranger only held out his hand and said, “Could I have this dance, milady?”

My heart fluttered as I heard his proposal. It was as if I was back to being a little girl, engrossed in a classic love story, far from reality. His open palm, beckoning for mine and his bright yet warm face welcoming me to take his proposal. I remembered my mother’s words, that a stranger is dangerous; untrustworthy and mischievous. I probably shouldn’t have taken it and heeded my mother’s words, but then again, I did find something charming in strangers.

And so, I felt his hand, a refreshing, warm delight in the ice cold streets, harmonizing with mine as our bodies followed suit, starting a wonderful winter waltz. I looked at his eyes as he led me in the dance, he smiled and slowed the pace, perhaps because he was lenient of me, or perhaps because he wanted to be able to look closely back at me. His right hand, on my hips, guided me along the icy road, the snowy sidewalk, and around the street lights as the violin played on, as if serenading us. It was as if we were transported away from the coldness, away from the solemn, snow covered streets to a marvelous ballroom; warm, elegant, and romantic. I felt bliss, warmth, happiness, and perhaps romantic feelings as I matched his pace and movements, resulting in a move so beautiful in my memory that I could not describe it as anything short of extraordinary.

The violin then slowed, and stopped, and so did I, and him, and our small, yet wonderful dance. As we looked at each other, faces flushed and hands still tight together, one might be forgiven to think that this would end with a kiss, and perhaps start a romance.

They would be wrong.

The sound of the midnight bus replaced the soothing violin, and brought us back to the cold, icy streets near the bus stop, where it had indeed stopped. We let go of each other, and he gestured me to board the vehicle. It seems our time was up, and so, for both courtesy and curiosity, I asked him, as I walked up to the stairs within the bus, what his name was, and where he was going.

In response, very fittingly, he smiled and shook his head, before waving to me as the bus doors closed and we were separated forever. It seems that he too, found something charming in strangers.