I could feel the suppressed snoring of the rickety old bus, somewhere under me. I wished I could sleep through my journey on the fissured roads, like it.
It began raining outside. I wondered if I’d feel better if the cool rain feel on my face. But I didn’t want my blazer to get wet. The books in my school bag too. Once I concluded that I might like to feel the rain, I began deciding if I’d be able to open the window.
The rain stopped. I was at my stop. I couldn’t get the image of the boy sleeping next to me and the girl who opened the window and wet herself in the smile of the rain out of my mind.