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Stolen.

He was not dressed overly for the occasion: just a simple, dark-coloured collared t-shirt and brown pants, and a pair of shiny black boots.

I had not seen him enter, but he had taken a seat next to an elderly Punjabi woman in blue. Possibly taken in by the young man’s courteous smile and polite demeanour, she readily struck up a conversation with him (possibly revolving around the trials and tribulations of trying to fill up a problematic DS-160 online application form in the past seven days). He nodded and listened attentively to her words; she laughed easily at the things that he said. Then the woman’s number was called – she bade him a hasty goodbye and left him seated there alone.

There were times when I thought he was looking my way but I stoically feigned ignorance. In turn, I stole quick glances at him when he was not looking. Oh lordy; he is cute. Palpitations. Dreamy sighs. Heart flutters.

Not long after, a fairly tall girl in a blue dress with distinct lace patterns at the hemlines had hurried past us when her number was called. We spied a small white envelope – possibly containing her passport pictures – floating to the floor behind her. He immediately jumped to his feet and picked up the envelope.

“Miss!” his voice unintentionally boomed loud and clear down the corridor. The girl swung around. “You dropped something,” he continued in a softer tone, somewhat apologetically.

“Gosh, thanks!” she said, her voice unusually light as she reached over to take the envelope from his hand. The obvious gratitude in her voice was enough to make the heavens part for him. My knight in shining armour meekly went back to his seat and we continued our not-wanting-to-look-at-each-other routine.

His number got called next, and he disappeared down the same corridor many others have gone to.

I wish I had known him better, for many hours later, I find myself missing him already.

Details of this entry.Tuesday, March 09, 2010, filed under Personal.
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