Was he really that cynical, that disaffected with is life that this was a high point in the drudgery of his life? Could this encounter ignite some passion into his otherwise drab and colourless world?
“You must have been commuting for a while?” It was a statement, rather than a question.
“Yes I have, five years to be exact. Why, does it show?” He replied.
“Well, my husband did this same commute for 30 years, I see that same look in your eyes.” She looked away, an almost angry look on her face.
“I’m sorry…” he started to say.
“Why? Why are you sorry? You didn’t even know him, you don’t even know me! How can I expect you to be sorry!”
The outburst shocked him. It didn’t even seem to be directed at him, her internal strife had come to the fore and broke free. He felt uncomfortable.
“I’m sorry…I mean it’s expected isn’t it. A social convention, of course I don’t know you or him enough to be sorry and I just, well…I don’t know really, what else is there to say? “He smiled weakly.
“No it’s me that should be sorry. You were being polite and nice and I do appreciate it, makes things so much simpler.”
This was a tricky path to tread, saying the wrong thing now could blow his chances. He looked at her reflection in the window as she stared into the dark night.