“What can I say?
‘What classes are you taking?’
‘What’s your major?’
‘Ride the bus much?’
No… if I say anything then the next time will be even more awkward because we’ll feel that we should talk besides just acknowledging each other. Then what will we say?”
“The color of shirt…I like it.” She said with a subtle, strange accent.
Startled, L. stared at her in the bus seat next to him.
“My father liked that color…” she continued.
“I’m Kamile. You live close, yeah?”
L. searched for a language completely forgotten.
“I’ve seen you on your roof, i think.” (sb)
