Every day, a girl gets on a bus, Line Number 41, the line that runs north and south across the city. She arrives at the bus stop at exactly 8:07 AM, usually with a bottle of iced tea in her hand and her long-strapped purse slung across her shoulder. It is heavy, judging from the way she has to keep readjusting her bag, her cardigan sleeve getting caught in the straps. She usually wears cardigans – red, blue, tan, white – she seems to have all the colors to match the mood of the weather, the sentiment of the sky. Sometimes, though, she might wear a trench coat paired with her umbrella if the skies are gray. Sometimes, when the sun is blazing hot, she would forego a cardigan altogether.

She fidgets for 3 minutes at the Line 41 bus stop before the bus arrives at 8:10 AM. Precisely. She seems to be someone who likes to be on time and just a bit early to give herself some breathing room.

Every day, a boy gets on a bus, Line Number 41, the line that runs north and south across the city. He arrives at the bus stop at exactly 8:13 AM, usually with a glass jar of black coffee and his messenger bag lazily hung from his tall, bony frame. It is light, judging from the way it wrinkles as if filled with nothing but air. He usually wears cardigans – red, blue, tan, white – he seems to have all the colors to match the mood of the weather, the sentiment of the sky. Sometimes, though, he might wear a thicker jacket paired with his umbrella is the skies are gray. Sometimes, when the sun is blazing hot, he would forego a cardigan altogether.

He usually listens to music as he gets ready for his day. He brushes his teeth to the tune of acoustic guitar, cooks breakfast to the latest indie rock, and unashamedly blasts pop music through his earbuds as he rushes to the bus stop.

She usually only lets herself listen to music once she takes her seat on the bus. She doesn’t know why she does this. She never lets herself plug in her earbuds until she sits down – she likes using the rest of the morning to listen to the sounds of outside: the lone bird chirping in the distance, the rushing of cars in their morning commute, her clicking of her heels on the sidewalk as she goes to work. But when she finally sits down, she tunes in to the sound of Mozart, Beethoven, Handel. Maybe she is a little old school, she thinks.

He barely has time to breathe for 40 seconds at the Line 41 bus stop before the bus arrives at 8:14 AM. Give or take. He seems to be someone who likes to be on time but cuts it a little close, maybe for the adventure, maybe for the sake of being laidback.

He usually takes out his earbuds by the time he’s on the bus. He doesn’t know why he does this. Maybe he just likes to observe the people around him, the people from all walks of life crowded into a public transportation vehicle. There is something intriguing about that. Most of the time, there is not much to listen to while on the bus. Lone commuters rarely make small talk on the bus rides to work, but he somehow enjoys the rumble of the bus engines below him, the ever-so-often scratching of the brakes, the announcements over the intercom broadcasting which stop is next.

When he scans his clipper pass at the front of the bus, he looks around, searching the aisles. Ah, there is the cardigan girl again, he thinks to himself. He looks down at his own cardigan. The colors are different, but he still chuckles to himself, brushing the hair out of his eyes. He ends up sitting across the aisle from her, window seat so as to not get too close. It is routine now. They’ve never spoken, on account of the earbuds steadfastly in her ears, hidden by wisps of her dark hair.

When the bus pulls into the next stop and she has just situated herself to Symphony No.5, a familiar figure with long locks and that signature empty-but-not-empty messenger bag climbs up the steps. Ah, there is the cardigan boy again, she thinks to herself. She looks down at her own cardigan. The colors are different, but she still chuckles to herself, brushing the hair out of her eyes. She shifts a little in her seat when he takes his usual spot in the window seat across the aisle, directly opposite her. It is normal, somehow. He doesn’t really recognize her presence with much more than a little twinge of his lips that could pass for a smile, before training his gaze out the window of Bus Line 41.

Sometimes, when the bus stops at a traffic light, he uncaps the glass bottle in his hand and drinks his coffee, shuddering a little as the caffeine does its work. He uses his momentary distraction to peek a glance in her direction and notes the small smile on her lips. He’s curious what she’s listening to, but he never asks. There is also something about the way her fingers are poised on her phone screen as she texts – a certain grace and warmth. She is wearing a maroon cardigan today.

Sometimes, when the bus jerks a little as it encounters bumps in the road, she holds her bag close to her on her lap, readjusting her hair so she can sweep it aside just enough to steal a look in his direction. There’s something about the serene expression on his face – a certain calmness in the midst of the hustle of commuters. The sunlight takes care to reflect off his brown hair, and she wonders how long it takes him to get ready in the morning. Of course, she would never ask such a question like that. He is wearing a black cardigan today.

She gets off the bus before he does. When her stop is called, she hastily shoulders her bag, earbuds still snugly worn, making her way toward the side door. This is how she leaves, every week day, and this is how he never gets a chance to even know her name. The girl in the cardigan.

He gets off the bus later than she does. When her stop is called, she throws a quick glance toward the cardigan boy – why, she doesn’t know. But soon the side doors have swung shut behind her and she disconnects herself from the tunes of Beethoven and Mozart and instead thinks of the guy whose name she doesn’t even know. The guy in the cardigan.

This is how it is, day by day. Some combination of heels clicking on the sidewalk, black coffee in a glass jar, red and blue and tan and white cardigans, classical music and Bus Line 41. Only an aisle in the middle separates them, and yet their minds seem far apart, even as their hearts inch toward each other, unknowingly.

But they never quite touch.

Just as one cannot control the mood of the weather or the sentiment of the sky, this is just how it is.

Author's Note: this is a requested pairing. For some reason, this pairing feels very hipster. LOL. I hope you like it!