And That is Strike Two!

I was striding with my heels across the bustling south wing of Deep Valley City when I saw a familiar face. She smiled at me waved and I waved back. She is my aunt. She works as a Personal Assistant in an advertising company. She was wearing Giordano red T-shirt covered with a jeans jacket with her loose baggy jeans. She greeted me with a huge smile and we hugged. So, I chatted with her for awhile and soon we said our goodbyes.

With contented heart, I trotted back to where I came from - the bullet station. As I was cautiously avoiding kids, cute boys, parents, grandmas and grandpas, I passed a super cute boy. He stared and my heart beats like the sound of the wheels of a locomotive train. Then, realization stroke! I know that boy, or at least he seems familiar. I tried hard to recollect as I waltzed through the throngs of people.

"I remember him!" I said to myself embarrassed, excited and afraid. I stood still in the rapid flow of crowds, turned around and searched for him. He saw that I turned around smiled and changed direction. He started to fight the rapid flow of people. I started panicking. I moved to the side and stood in front of a clothing store.

I rubbernecked the flow to see where he was. In his journey to me, he pushed a boy away from his path, stood still to give way to an Arab family which spoke so loud that even I can memorize what they were saying and hit a wheelchair of an old lady and fell. He finally stood in front of me. He is a bit taller than I am, hair was covering his right eyes, a faded straight line of scar above his cheekbones and left eyes, neatly shaved, nice smell - I think he wore Pacco Rabbanne (however I spell that) he was wearing a light green Polo T, and a dark-green-almost-black knee length short and a pair of Nike(I don't know the type).

"Hey," he said.

"Hi," half dead already.

"erm, can I Have your number?" He asked.

And what I did?

I walked away.