I didn't see the girl for the next couple of days, but to honest, I had already forgotten about her before the bus pulled in at my stop. The next time I saw her, and the first time I really started to notice her, was almost two weeks later.

Chapter 2

I had learned my lesson. This time I boarded earlier, being careful to secure myself a seat before the bus completely filled up. Sitting myself down in the bus seat, I dumped my bag in the seat next to mine, making sure that no one might want to sit next to me. There. Problem solved for today.

As the bus starts its journey down the poorly paved road, I hunt around in my bag for the book I'm reading today. I open to the page I was up to, but before I can settle down to read I heard a familiar jerk's voice leering, "Come on, babe. I saved this seat just for you." All jerks sound the same to me. I don't bother looking up. I don't need to watch the resident blockhead hit on whatever waify girl he's decided to target today.

"Where else are you going to sit? Be reasonable, gorgeous. Don't you wanna sit in my lap?" I look up this time, just to tell the perverted bastard just to shut the hell up, but I stop when I see the object of his lust.

It's that girl.

This time it's her without a seat. Not that there are none left, but the only ones available are with that moron and his friends.

I glance at the vacant seat next to mine, and try to tell myself that it doesn't matter. None of my business. But do I really want to subject the poor girl to a bus trip with someone else's hands halfway up her thighs?

I watch the pitiful scene for a little while. The girl, torn between indecision and fear, looks away from her predators and covers her legs with her bag. The rowdy idiots that surround her grope and jeer. For a moment she catches my eye, but before I can be sure it's me she's looking at, she turns away again, biting her lip, squeaking when a guy yanks at her skirt.

I can't let this happen. Even if it is none of my business. "Hey!" I find my voice at last. "Cut it out!" I glare at her tormentors, but they predictably completely ignore me. Fine. There's more than one way to skin a fish.

"Hey. Girl. Goldilocks!" I don't know her name, but I still get her attention. She looks at me, almost quizzically, a little fearful and wary. Could she just grow a backbone? I take my bag from the seat next to mine and jerk my head at it.

She just stares. What is she, mentally impaired?

"Sit here." I spell it out for her. Immediately I get the predicted reaction from the monkeys on the bus, hollering and grinning. Oh yeah, I ask her to sit next to me, so she's obviously my girlfriend. I rescue her from a bunch of horny teenagers, so I must obviously have an ulterior motive. Everything about them annoys the hell out of me.

She obviously decides that sitting next to me is better than being a sitting duck for sexual predators. As she sits, I see her carefully scoop her ridiculously long hair out of the way, letting it amass on her lap.

"Your hair's so long," I mutter, glancing back to my book.

She lowers her eyes, blushing. "I like it that way," she says softly. Everything about her is apologetically soft and gentle. I can't decide if it annoys me or not.

The bus moves on, and she gets out her Discman, closing her eyes and leaning back in her seat. So she's not going to talk to me. Good. I can return to my book in peace.

Ten minutes into the journey, I can't help it. It feels so weird to be reading with someone next to me. I glance at her, and to my disconcertion, I find that she's reading over my shoulder. "What?" I utter the word sharper than I meant to.

The girl quickly looks away, then shyly back at me, blushing as she does so. "Oh, I-I'm sorry," she whispers. She looks away again. She's too shy. But what do I care? I turn back to my book, but I can't stop myself from glancing her way every so often. One time she catches me staring at her, and again, she blushes profusely and apologises in her muted whisper of a voice.

"Don't apologise. I hate it when people say sorry for no reason," Again, I'm too sharp with my words. I wouldn't care with most people, but she just seems so frail, so soft. It's like I could break her if I was too harsh. She just nods her head mutely, clasping her hands in her lap, and playing with strands of her long, long hair.

I just cannot get over that hair. It's simply amazing that someone can maintain hair that long. I would never forget her, not with that hair.

But I doubt she remembers me.

He saved me. I don't think he wanted to, not by the curt, clipped way he ordered me to sit next to him, but he still did it. It… it's nice of him.

But I feel awkward, unsure… I don't know what to do or say to him. I feel clumsy just climbing into the seat he's offered me, and he's watching me with those vivid blue eyes. I can't tell what he's thinking, but I'm sure he's regretting that he asked me to sit here. I almost want to apologise and stand up again, but I guess that would be silly, and I don't want to be ungrateful.

"Your hair's so long," he mutters as I sit down. His blue eyes follow the length of my hair, and I can't tell if he disapproves, or if he's just making conversation. I don't know what to say. I… I don't talk to people very often.

Instead I just look away, a blush spreading across my cheeks. "I like it that way," I whisper. He must think I'm weird, and maybe boring. Well, I think most people do.

But he doesn't say anything else.

He just goes back to reading.

I try to listen to my music, but not even Bach can keep me absorbed while he's sitting next to me. I try not to let him see that I'm looking at him, which is no problem because he's completely engrossed in his book. I look at the title. The Catcher in the Rye. I think I have that book on my shelf at home. It's a classic, I think. But I don't know anything about literature.

"What?" His sharp voice conveys irritation and anger, and I instinctively look away. "Oh…" I glance briefly back at him, blushing as I do so. "I-I'm sorry." I apologise quietly.

More silence on his part. He's not talkative, but I'm secretly grateful for that. I wouldn't know what to say. It's awkward enough as it is.

But I can't help but continue stealing glances at him, at his book. One time he catches me, and I apologise hastily. But that only seems to annoy him further. "Don't apologise, I hate it when people say sorry for no reason." His tone is even sharper than before.

I almost apologise for apologising, but that would probably make him angrier still. Instead I just nod slightly, and fiddle with my hair, curling it around my fingers. I don't know what else to do. I don't know what else to say.

This time he breaks the silence. "What are you listening to?" he asks gruffly.

I reach into my bag, and show him the CD case.

He scans the cover, and reads the title out loud. "Bach - Sonatas and Partitas," he flips the cover open. "Classical music?" Good guess. But I guess it's kind of obvious with the violin on the front cover. He tosses the case back into my lap, and glances at me. "You listen to that sort of thing?"

"It's beautiful," I find myself needing to defend my one love. "Orchestral music shows so much beauty and emotion, and it sounds so… pretty," I blush, unable to believe that I strung so many words into one sentence.

He just nods. "Yeah…" he looks away from me, leaning back against his seat. "I can understand that. Though I don't listen to much of it myself." he gestures his book at me. "Words can convey beauty and emotion too. At least, good writing can." he opens his book again, glancing at me as he does it. "A lot of people don't read much anymore, especially not classic literature." He snorts. "Idiots."

I don't know what to say at that, so I just look at him.

He seems to be a little uncomfortable under my gaze, because he keeps on talking. "What about you? Do you read?"

I blush, knowing that my answer won't please him. "Uh… I, I… well, I don't read much, actually. I have a lot of books at home, but I… I find them hard to read. I'm sorry." I add the apology at the end because I don't know what else to say, and I don't want to make him hate me.

He's not angry, but he just gives a little shrug, as if he already expected that sort of response. "Don't be. Most people are like that. Besides, I find listening to classical music boring too." He turns back to his book, not caring that he may have mortally offended me with that offhand last remark. I want to argue, tell him all the wonderful things about beautiful music, tell him about the way it can make you feel… and explain that it's not that I find books boring, I just have trouble reading. But I can't find the words, and I don't know what to say.

We don't exchange another word until the bus lurches to a halt in front of my stop. "I, uh, get off here." I tell him apologetically. He shifts his gaze from his book to me, a flash of intense colour as he appraises me with his blue eyes.

"…Bye," he says shortly.

This time when I look back as I leave the bus, he's still looking at me, that unreadable look in his blue eyes. Not for long, and when he sees me looking back, he quickly turns back to his book.

He really does have such pretty eyes. I might only be able to see one, but I'm sure the other one is just as beautiful. I could never forget him, that boy with beautiful eyes.

I wonder if he remembers me?