I woke up on a Wednesday morning, drank a cup of coffee and had a blueberry crepe for breakfast. It took me a couple hours to be fully prepared and leave to take the bus, that since the bus driver changed back in 1987, always leaves at 10:42 am.

As I walked to the bus stop, an art student I had never seen before caught my attention. I kept on walking. I arrived; we both got inside the bus.

I saw her take a sit. She sat two feet away.

She noticed the way my attention has driven by her the first bare moment I saw her. As a friendly woman she whispered “Hello” in a sweet but nervous voice, a voice that could only come from a person who had been judged before. Speechless by her stunning beauty, I was only able to smile. She smiled back.

She rolled her wide, beautiful, wooden eyes to the left craving to take a look to the road but as the time advanced her eyes got lost in the way.

A chilly breeze entered through the passenger’s window behind her. Frightened, she looked behind, moving her head towards her right shoulder (in which I haven’t mentioned, she has a tattoo of the fur of a jaguar). She expected to see "it" grabbing onto her back. I could tell she was scared by the way her pupils grew and in the instant it happened. Nervously she grabbed the tips of her hair, which was long in the middle but really short at the edge of her head. However, "it" was gone. Conscious of her safeness, she exhaled hardly, perhaps too hard, even I could perceive the sound of relief.

A few minutes after, she grabbed a notebook with her delicate long fingers and inked her nib pen. All of her thoughts seemed to be written on those amber dusty sheets. Inspiration came crashing as tidal waves onto the paper. She wrote like it was the last time she will ever be able to. With every word, tenacity grew in her back bone. She gave the impression that she was not afraid anymore. She continued.

Out of her bag, she took a deep look into a cracked mirror she carried. The factions of her face were sharp and defined. Symmetry was present in every one of her angles. Her clear skin beamed purity. By far she needed no makeup. Definitely one of the prettiest girls I've ever seen. At that instant, she believed it too. The confidence she exuded was enough to tell. She felt ready.

She just waited for the moment in which she got out of here, I thought to myself, and for once walked in the streets freely and proud of whom she was. She resembled determination, and yearning to prove how they were wrong about her. I would like to compare her to her own cracked glass, fragile in condition yet with sufficient power to tear whoever may try to break her down.

I may have lost track of how long I gazed at her, the soft curves of her body and her, immaculate and gloomy, brown eyes. Fast, or maybe at least that's how it felt, she left. Anyhow, her spirit will be present in my mind and so as the girl she left behind.