He is used to that rhythm. Every morning, he walks from home to the bus stop, his footsteps are fast enough not to be late, and slow enough not to hit anyone. He has a habit of looking down at the road at the green light waiting corner to see streaks of oil, a fallen leaf, sometimes a mask someone dropped and rarely, a rat crushed is probably when rushing across the road. The city always leaves traces of passing times, but rarely keeps a face.
She appeared as if people were waiting for the green light: Unannounced, not in time to prepare. She stood next to him at the bus station, holding a cup of paper coffee. The coffee smell mixed with the smell of car smoke created a characteristic urban flavor. The two stood next to each other, very close, but still completely unfamiliar. Then the car arrived. The crowd rushed up and down. He and she got on the car and stood opposite each other, hands clinging to the same lever. The car braked suddenly, he tilted slightly, she also tilted slightly. A moment of imbalance made both of them laugh, a very small, very quick smile, enough to recognize each other's presence. In the city, connections usually start and end in the same breath.
Urban life is always moving but also always stops. People stop in front of red lights, stop in elevators, stop at coffee shops at noon to reply to emails. Those stops are so short that they don't have time to name them, but combined into a whole life. He thought about it when he saw her get out of the car first, blending into the crowd as if she had never stood next to him before. The city swallows people very quickly, without asking for permission.
In the afternoon, the rain suddenly poured down. The porchs became temporary meeting spots for strangers. He hid from the rain in front of a 24/7 store and saw her again. He said casually a few words like it was too dirty rain, soaking wet. Then the rain stopped, they greeted each other without asking for names, phone numbers and of course no promises to meet again. He went to the East, she turned to the West. People met to know that she was not the only one walking, and then continued to walk.
In the evening, the city lights up. He sits in the cafe, looking at the crowd through the glass door, thinking about her, urban life, people always passing by and disappearing. But in those disappearances, we remember a smile on the bus, a deep eye that hides many things, or a very short moment together. And that's enough. Because amidst so many movements, there are moments of standing still very quietly, like when he and she used to stand next to each other, enough to remind us that we are living.
