A momentary lapse of clouds in the sky permits several specks of sunlight to imbue the quaint suburb, its people to feel the gentle warmth that flits through their window blinds and translucent doors. The slight twittering of the songbirds that perch on the telephone lines cheers the solemn atmosphere and some of the early risers are already preparing themselves for what the hours ahead have in store for them. Friendly neighbours call each other out for a quick chat; some proceed to invest their time in a much needed breakfast. Laughter is a contagion and a cure for the cold hours ahead. On a day like this, even the briefest glance can send your heart and mind whirring.

She wakes up to the distant wail of her cellphone alarm, switching it off and taking a good look at her surroundings in spite of feeling quite lethargic. She doesn’t remember the time she ended up falling fast asleep, but it is evident that it happened during an unexpected moment because of the prominent mess her belongings are in. Running her fingers through her unkempt hair, she lifts the overnight mug from the piece of paper she is working on, leaving a disgraceful albeit subtle stain. The contents are removed and the premise is quickly tidied up for she has to arrive at an important place on time. Pulling on clothes of a simple and dull fashion, she wears the pair of sneakers with great haste, abandoning the apartment lot she resides in.

She reaches the bus stop with a few inconsequential minutes to spare, and no matter how trifle of a matter it is, it makes her almost glad enough to smile. Bending down to retie the laces, her eyes capture the sight of something interesting. Blinking softly, she returns to her original upright posture and watches a scene unfolding across the street. There is a male, holding a thick paintbrush and he is surrounded by several cans of whitewash. In what seems to be a patient manner, he coats the red bricks with the new ivory lining meticulously. By and by, a group of children who appear to be playing on the grey pavement are unwittingly heading towards him. Unluckily, one of the young girls happens to trip and fall on the sidewalk, scrapping her knees in the process. Then she scrunches up her pretty face to cry.

She notices that he is aware of the predicament that just transpired, for he leaves his paintbrush by the cans and attends to the snivelling child. He is on his knees now, wearing a kindly expression as he talks to her. She who is at the bus stop easily surmises that he has offered to seek basic treatment for the girl, since he scoops the said being into his arms and hurries into a nearby medical centre. To her horror, the rest of the children decide to tip the paint out of their cans and mess up the walkway. The grey pavement is now tainted and blemished with the expensive whitewash. She wants to tell them to stop what they are doing, but she doesn’t because she is across the busy street, and so it is likely they cannot hear her. Also, it is more probable that they would ignore her accosting because it is clear that the group planned it out all along.

She is lethally certain of her initial guess when he reappears once again with the treated child, whose body seems to shake with intense emotion upon sighting the chaotic disorder. The young girl turns around to face the benign male, looking like she is going to cry again because she feels guilty for tricking him. Surprisingly, he only pats her head lightly before whispering some words to her, and the child runs off to where her other friends would be. He obtains a rag and pours some unidentifiable liquid on it, proceeding to rub against the ill pavement obediently to remove the foreign covering. She discerns his habit of blinking erratically and adjusting his spectacles from time to time before boarding the much awaited transportation.

On the bus, as the persistent figure by the ruined brick wall fades into a blur, she continues to look out at the large bus window, gifting her with various and beautiful sights. She usually enjoys the picturesque moments, but her mind is occupied with another matter today. She recalls him, thinking of how he is the type that would be trusting enough to be fooled over and over again. He is probably the guy that everyone wants to have on their team when they play a friendly match, too. She imagines the children tricking him several times, having him to waste the cans of paint indirectly. Nonetheless, she concludes that he would accept the situation cheerfully, and that sort of inner charm would draw people close to him. Perhaps, just perhaps, even the younger ones would stop in their infantile gestures and hold respectful conversations with him as he works on the brick wall.

She proceeds to think of how she would appear with a paintbrush during one of his busy days, to help him paint while sharing a conversation or two. It would be nice too, she figures, to actually come to know him well and handle occasional meets whenever it is desired. As she gazes at the verdant park, she remembers the winsome smile he wore and kept it lingering in the back of her mind. And she wonders incessantly on how blessed she would be if she chances to hear the laugh in his smile. Without a warning, a faint blush adorns her countenance as she shifts awkwardly in the seat at that disconcerting notion, for in a scenic town like this; it is too dear to believe that two people of no prior relation could meet without conjuring a deliberate and embarrassing coincidence.

In the late afternoon, he studies the surplus amount of text that is embedded within the many pages of the magazine. A suspire eventually forms at the end of his parched throat, enjoying the unhealthy strain for a few unnecessary seconds before making the effort to acquire a polystyrene cup of drinking water by the provided water dispenser. He casts a bleak glance to the side, taking in the excessive amount of people at the beauty parlour. He is generally one of endurance, but it seems as though time is elongating beyond its permitted limits for today. He easily rubs his weary eyes with the end of his left sleeve before returning to his seat by the stack of magazines. The perusal is only executed to whittle the unbearable hours at this place with his older sister. Speaking of which, his eyes lifts ever so inconspicuously to catch a glimpse of the said lady to see if she is finishing up just yet.

His heart soars to escalating heights when he realizes that his sister only needs to fashion her wavy hair and apply a considerable quantity of makeup. He is assured that it will only take an hour more before he drops her off at the prestigious event. Nearly grinning, he is about to turn away when his attention is transfixed on the beautician. She has her hair pulled back neatly into a common ponytail, with a mild amount of powder applied to appear polite. He supposes that she could appear sweeter, but chooses not to. She primly attends to his older sister’s needs efficiently and unexpectedly gains his discreet attention for the rest of the session. He sincerely ponders on the wonder of her smile even as he leaves the beauty parlour with his older sister after the required payment.

Driving the red convertible he owns smoothly on the congested road, his mind drifts to the serious beautician for the nth time. In his opinion, he believes her to be the type to take notice of the slightest details, only to return to her cosy place after everything related to work is settled. Once comfortable, she’ll change out of the tight-looking blouse and pencil skirt, afterwards ecstatic enough to undo the elastic scrunchie that fastens her asset together. He is conscious enough that her hair will cascade pass her small shoulders as she makes her way to the study table. Be the kind of person who enjoys her simple leisure pursuit like cracking her brains over crossword puzzles accompanied with a drink, look forward to the weekends when the parents would come by for a visit.

Snapping out of his assuming notions temporarily, he sighs at the unceasing traffic jam and opts to pull the handbrake. In doing so, the younger brother turns to inquire the older sister in the sparkling wrap dress that complements her svelte figure. He asks of her favourite beverage, to which she replies easily with the typical coffee. With the lids of her eyes that droop a little with concern, she questions him in return for the sudden and aberrant interest. Brushing her off lightly with a nonchalant comment, speaking of his peculiar question to be genuinely nothing to worry about, he only looks ahead at the rows of assorted vehicles being stuck in this equally random obstruction during the time of crepuscule. The colours are starting to ade the surroundings, drenching the place with an orange and reddish hue. Subconsciously retrieving the pair of spectacles that he wore earlier whilst painting the brick wall to protect his sensitive eyes, he wipes them furiously with a piece of cloth as the tingling sensation rises to his cheeks mercilessly, somehow knowing now that the beautician’s favourite drink is definitely milk tea.

Even as she starts her work for the day, her thoughts still revolved around him, remembering now that the clothes he donned is not of a hired worker. Then, it must have meant that he took on the job without expecting any sort of payment. The idea proves to be endearing, for she finds it noble that he is able to invest time and effort into something that isn’t going to give the investor anything in return. She thinks interminably, even as she skilfully beautifies the older sister of the aforementioned person unknowingly, of how she could be someone that amazing too. She thinks and tries to comprehend of ways that she too, could bring smiles to the people around her and bless people without harbouring stingy calculations.

He strikes lucky for the first time in a long while, earning the chance to arrive at the venue of the reputable event for rising stars in the filming industry like his older sister. Being raised like a gentleman, he takes the time to get out of his seat and opens the door for her in a dignified mien. She smiles, showing her deep regard and appreciation for his participation with a suitable pat. She leans over to his ear, kindly reminding him to find a decent and stable job soon and makes a pivotal turn on her stunning heels to head towards the grand entrance. Though temporarily chided, he takes it well and returns to his rightful seat at the wheel, recalling the same person once again. Now, as he drives off into the starry night, he realizes that the beautician’s work is humbling, since she makes a living on making others people better than herself. With an honest groan, he wonders how someone like himself could attempt to be less of himself and be more of other people.

She laughs softly to herself as she reaches for an edible biscuit in the apartment during the nightly hour, thinking if he would find her incessantly doltish.

He fiddles with his cellphone while waiting in line at a convenience store to pay for a packet of chips, helplessly attached to the thought of her and with something that would strike any individual as preposterous.

Even then, the notion subsists. In their own special and respective ways, they consider the inane possibility that they are strangers who truly know each other without ever speaking before. And maybe, just maybe, they aren’t that far apart.

She ponders as the loose long-sleeved hand holds the mechanical pencil idly by the study table, recalling the ability that he possesses in gracing others with the gift of joy and unadulterated happiness.

He pops a chip into his mouth as he contemplates on her continuous modesty.

In this charming suburb with its shares of gelid winds and sunlight, they wonder of their possibility of meeting each other like ordinary people.

The days go on. Every time she detects him across the street from the bus stop, there is a raging battle within. A part of her insists that she crosses the street and faces her challenges upfront, and if she proves to be accomplished, she would learn of him without the need to presume any longer.  The thought, although tempting, is held back by her timid self, one that abides by the rules and reasons that she would be late to work. The other part retorts rather defiantly, speaking that she could always call up the beauty parlour for an impromptu day-off. Yet the selfish and mortifying notion of explaining to her boss that her absence would relate to meeting someone, especially of the opposite gender, is enough to negate her ready footwork. As she boards the bus, she knows more acutely than ever that she has every inch of desire to truly know the he who dwells on the other side of the busy street.

He doesn’t leave her thoughts as she handles the customers, and at the very least, she thinks of how she is to impact the people around her in his style; the sort of way that didn’t yearn for proper recognition, something that would make the people smile without a worried thought. During the short lunch break, her boss asks her to clean up the storeroom since it is becoming quite the mess. Executing a stiff nod, she does so, and discovers a cylindrical helium tank. With eyes that widen carelessly, she knows the answer to the question that has been inadvertently besetting her mind for the past few days.

She calls her mother on the weekend morning, hoping that if it isn’t too much of a hassle, it is preferred if they arrived at tea time today instead of lunchtime. Although she doesn’t give a proper explanation, the mother accepts the altered situation easily and cheers her daughter on for whatever she is choosing to do today. The granted permission excites her. Without further ado, she pulls out a packet of assorted balloons and readies the helium tank that she borrowed from the beauty parlour. Taking in a deep breath, she gives it her all in an attempt to survive the cause that manifested ever so importantly.

After an hour and a half, she journeys on the grey pavements with a string of colourful balloons. They sway gaily in the timely breeze, clearly garnering the attention of the younger kids. They rush up to her mindlessly, chattering excitedly and asking if they are allowed to take some from her. She responds with a yes, causing some of them to squeal in unmistakable delight. She hands a green one to a boy while giving a blue one to another, and a few more which need not be described. She smiles to herself as she watches them running down the streets with the helium-filled balloons, feeling like she has given a part of herself away willingly for the sake of another’s gratification. The numbers dwindle over time, but she had not been miserly in providing the stock earlier that morning, so there is plenty to go around.

At last, as she gives a teal-coloured balloon to a child, she straightens up and realizes with alarming clarity that she is at the very spot where she often sees him. This time, she sees the familiar bus stop across the bustling street. With the last balloon that tugs gently at her slender fingers whenever a puff of mischief kicks up, she first admires the perfect coating of the now whitewashed bricks before glancing onward hopefully. To her disappointment, he isn’t here today. Nevertheless, she chooses to linger a little longer since her subconsciousness took her here anyway. Although the brick wall is quite lengthy, it is evident that he has finished with his required work; so most unfortunately, it is likely that he is going to be around here anymore. Though she feels bleak, an absurd idea lightens the mood almost immediately.

She takes out a piece of paper and a pen she constantly carries in her shirt pocket, trying to keep a straight face. She delineates a particular message with ardent passion, finally sticking it on the balloon’s wide surface with some cellotape. Whispering her hopes into it, she releases her hold on it. Glad to see that it ascends into the atmosphere peaceably, she only laughs shyly as she returns to her place, liking the impossible thought that when it descends, it will be received by a certain someone.

In the same week, he chances to return to the beauty parlour with his older sister. Seating himself amidst the pile of eclectic reading materials once more, he is astonished at the coincidence that the seemingly demure beautician is assisting his sister once again. During his wait, sometimes he finds his mouth threatening to articulate his raw thoughts pertaining to her, but he could not. After all, he is already at their mercy for being allowed in this beauty parlour that is only reserved for ladies. He heard that there were several horrifying harassment cases when it was a co-ed salon, so their standards had to be adjusted. So he could not help but to feel unwelcomed, and he guesses that she wouldn’t want to approach ever so randomly. Especially not while she is working valiantly, he supposes.

Blinking habitually, the dust at the corner of his eyes still irritates him, and so he rubs them away. He wonders if he should wear his makeshift spectacles to protect his sensitive eyes, but decides against it because he thinks he looks quite terrible in them. He only uses them when absolutely necessary. Again, when his eyes glances her, he ponders on how he too, could be someone who edifies another. Mindlessly noting on how a strand of her hair is sticking out, he is able to imagine curling it at the back of her right ear. That causes him to cough uncomfortably; suddenly aware of how disturbing that sounded if that had been spoken aloud. So he averts her for the rest of the time in this place, unnerved by his own overly interested notions.

He wakes up in the middle of the night, plagued with a nightmare that is far too familiar. He remembers a friend, someone he is once pleasantly associated with until that horrible misunderstanding. The corners of his mouth turn downwards in discontent, disliking the fact that he is disturbed from his slumber by a memory so long ago. But even as the question that bugs him persistently on the topic of gratification makes its umpteenth case, he is revealed with a plan that had a probability of achieving the wanted goal.

He scurries about during an extremely early hour on the weekend, consuming a light breakfast that consists of bacon and eggs with a cup of tea before leaving. Taking a large shovel, he begins to unearth the dark, grainy soil at his backyard. The work is tough and excruciating, something not encouraged to try when one just woke up but he had to do so. He didn’t want his parents or his older sister to know of his seemingly featherweight assignment. After a while, he manages to unbury a semi-deflated beach ball and the smile on his face is inconceivable. Placing the shovel aside, he tucks the olden item into brown paper bag before finishing up his work by the brick wall.

He equips the spectacles quickly, meaning to finish the whitewash coating as soon as possible. At a rather furious speed, he does. Evaluating his week-long craft, he smiles in intense satisfaction before removing the spectacles. He supposes that his work is quite excellent, in spite of the several blotches that appeared because of the uneven painting that was done by the well-meaning children. Running his fingers across his hair whilst deep in thought, he takes his leave with the paper bag, unaware of a specific her that would come and walk the same street he did a few hours earlier.

By the time he arrives at a certain doorstep, his thoughts are frantic and disjointed. He recalls how he and his friend would play with each other for hours when they were young kids, but then due to his selfishness and ego, that friendship broke off. He blinks soberly, knowing that he had been too ashamed to admit stealing the other’s beach ball just because he wanted it, and his friend who accused him was exceedingly angry for the resistance. Not liking the idea of being on the losing end, he had accused his friend of doubting unreasonably. Tempers flew and in the end, they both knew on the inside of who was to be blamed. Of course, he never apologized and instead, tried to hide his sin by burying this item of dispute in the cold hard ground. Until now, that is.

Knowing his friend to be an eternal late riser, the notion at least permits a smile to escape him. Having trudged painstakingly towards this venue, it surprises himself that he still bears the plan of backing out on this. He asks himself as to how relentless stubborn and selfish he could be. Grasping the brown paper bag, he stiffens when the people in the said household are beginning to execute their morning duties. He yells inwardly at himself to confront and ask for pardon from his past friend, for unforgiveness and grudges are poisonous to the human mind, but he remains stuck. He gulps, knowing that with each passing minute the probability of the neighbours noticing a rare visitant increases rapidly.

Even during such a crucial time like this, his mind is shameless enough to remember the beautician. He thinks earnestly, glancing to his left and right, hoping for a sign that would encourage him that everything will definitely sort themselves out. Out of the blue, something bobs itself against the back of his head, and he nearly freaks out. Trying to maintain his composure, he turns around rigidly to face the uncertainty and smiles the greatest smile ever. He has received the very thing he needs to face the challenge of the day.

For it is a lime-coloured balloon, completed with a message entitled to a dear stranger to achieve the things she never can in her place. Designed in a crossword puzzle style, his eyes only crinkle with ebullience as he notes the light milk tea stain at the corner of the paper.

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Greetings. It is most probable to truly believe that both you and I are strangers.

Thank you for reading this piece, no matter how you happened to come across it.

Let's continue to bring out the best of each other, shall we? (: