Cinderella's Diary

EIGHTEEN

 EIGHTEEN

            Up and down my bag went. The jog on stairs really worked a sweat. Leaning down on my knees, I tried to catch my breath.

“Last call for passengers to board the train,” I heard the intercom from a mile away. Fortunately, my bart card was full of credit. No time to trouble myself with the long line. I tipped on my toes—remembering my ballet lessons from momma. My height wouldn’t suffice. I couldn’t see. The bullet train had revved its engine. That much I could tell from the sound. The subway crowded with people.

            Red light blared in warning. “This is it,” I phased myself, took a few step backs. The sprint could win a marathon, “Hold that door!” I yelled like a maniac. The Americans looked to me, following the sound of my voice. Amusement plastered on their faces. “I’ll wipe the smug smile off your faces,” and yes to their utter shock—I was but one step away from the door. But then, doors began to move.

            That’s when a tall young man wedged himself into it. I wondered how he intended to stop the doors from closing. He kicked hard at the right end, slanting himself over. “Being late doesn’t suit you,” he called “But hurry, this won’t hold long.”

            Senses returning, my eyes narrowed in determination. “There’s no way in hell I’m taking another train!” I smiled, amused “I swiped the damn card.” So upon the reaching the train’s edge, I lounged backward so low, Van’s eyes widened in disbelief. I managed to “limbo rack” my way in. But when his eyes lifted in bright amusement—I lost my balance. He had to hold me.

            “Careful now,” that smile again “You might hurt yourself.” He pulled me toward him. However, he gotten hold of my bag, I couldn’t tell. But when he led to the side, he stood behind my back. He reached above us and held the metal bar—his other hand on the steel pole next to me. “Lean back,” he whispered.

            “Why?” I asked dumbly.

            “Because you’ll be blown away…”

            Just like that. I’ve fallen right back to his solid chest. Though lean, I felt his hard body on mine. “I told you,” he murmured with a laugh.

            I remained silent. As I tilted my head, he looked down at me. If we were any presumptions that we ought to be—his lips could have locked with mine. This close to him, I saw the firmness of his chin, and the kindness in his eyes. There was no pretense there, no falsehood. He looked down and said, “What are you staring at?” mirth in his voice, his hand coming down from the handrail. His hand closed round my waist. I bit my lip. Looking into his eyes looked like mirrors of my reflection. The night he came to my house, soaked in the rain came to mind.

            I had peeped through the hole. My uncle never stood this tall. His eyes met mine. My breath hitched and let him inside without a thought. “Don’t you have an umbrella?” I asked “What are you doing here?”

            Van held up a hand, “You’re avoiding me.”

            That was a blunt statement. No preamble or warning. I turned around in denial, “Of course not!”

            He spun me around “Really?” he asked “Then why won’t you talk to me?”

            “We are now.”

            “You’re still doing it,” he accused “What did I say to make you so upset you won’t talk to me? His grip on my arm tightened. His body tensed. He gasped. I settled him down on the couch.