Late

I was not sure if I was late or not; I didn't want to be late, and I had left early to make sure I would arrive at least five minutes before the scheduled, but I felt I was late. I cursed myself for not wearing watches.

When I arrived to the building, climbing the steps to reach its door, a girl was walking in my direction. I moved to left, to not collide against her, and she too turned to the same direction. Then we both moved to the right. Finally we moved to opposite directions, and we missed each other by a feet and a half or so. I saw her smile when she passed by me, and than giggle quietly; she was blonde and had clear eyes, and her casual dressing, her whole way of being attracted me. I almost stopped, and for once my brain was able to invent a pick up line instantaneously: ``The Hungarians say that when two people keep turning to the same direction to avoid bumping on each other, they are fated to fall in love.'' I don't know why I thought that, I'm pretty sure that no Hungarian ever said that. I turned my head back, to watch her; I wanted to see that smile again, that I had given to her so easily, and perhaps she would look back to me, and I'd stop walking, she'd stop too, and I'd forget that I was probably late and go tell her what the Hungarians use to say, and that she has a wonderful smile, and that we could go out and check out if the proverb was true. Only she didn't, and I walked into the building with a smile myself, with the slight sadness of letting her go, but the relief of finding that every corner holds a smile for us, if we just know how to look.