Cinnamon Flavoured Friendship
The city moved by in a swirl of neon lights, and Yuyan caught snatches of laughter through the bus window. It was late at night, and yet the city was alive. Groups of friends sat on benches and ate warm sugar-coated doughnuts. Lovers walked hand in hand and gazed into shop windows. Everyone had someone. Everyone but Yuyan.
She fiddled with the book on her lap. It wasn't in English, and she felt uncomfortable reading it in public. People would realise she didn't belong. They would talk about her, but she would never know what they said. She picked at the threads of the bookmark, worrying the fabric between her fingers. Her mother would tell her off for playing with loose threads. But her mother was also on the other side of the planet.
As the bus moved, she struggled to keep the loneliness at bay. She knew that moving to a new country was difficult, but she didn't realise how isolating it was. She knew no one- she barely knew the language. Communicating with an English speaker riddled her with anxiety, and her throat would close so that she could barely whisper. She hated it. And yet, the shame of giving up kept her going, no matter how lonely she grew.
The bus pulled up at another stop, and more people got on. They brought with them the smells of the city; perfume, beer, exhaust fumes and takeaway. Yuyan inhaled and could almost taste the candy floss a young boy was eating. People surrounded her. They were chatting and laughing, but she couldn't make out the words. It was a blur of vowels that sat uncomfortably on her tongue and consonants that confused her ears. A teenager bumped into her and said something Yuyan assumed to be an apology. She couldn't tell.
The doors of the bus started to close. But before it could rejoin the traffic, a loud voice cried from outside, "Stop!"
Yuyan looked out the window to see a young woman run past. She was laden with shopping bags and had a thick pink scarf wrapped around her neck. The bus obeyed, and the doors welcomed her aboard. She profusely thanked the driver and then bustled down the bus. She sat down next to Yuyan with a sigh of relief, her cheeks flushed from the impromptu dash. "Thank God. I thought I'd missed it for a second."
She grinned at Yuyan, "I've always been rubbish with time management. My mum never shuts up about it. She said I would be late to my own wedding if I ever found someone to marry. She's probably right."
Yuyan nodded in response, offering a smile of her own. She had no idea what the woman had just said. The woman appeared to take it as an invitation, and as the bus moved again, she started talking animatedly.
Yuyan instantly became lost in the woman's movements, swept away in her flamboyance. The city may be alive, but this woman was life itself. Her eyes shined with good humour, and the smile never left her face. Yuyan couldn't understand the woman's story, but it didn't matter. She felt her loneliness slide away as she watched the woman speak. She noticed her hair, tied loosely in a braid, was a dusty pink, and glittery silver nail polish coated her fingers. With each movement, they caught the bus lights and shined like tiny disco balls.
Suddenly the woman stopped, her arms dropping to her lap. Her eyes burned with a different kind of intensity. She stared at Yuyan's face and then at the book on her lap, the bag at her feet. The woman tilted her head to one side and frowned.
Yuyan tensed. Had she done something wrong? The culture here was so different to her own. It was so easy to make mistakes. Her brain raced a mile a minute as she desperately scrutinised her actions. She was too busy panicking to notice that the woman had reached into one of her many shopping bags and retrieved a box of doughnuts.
"Hey," she said, tapping Yuyan on the shoulder, "do you want a doughnut? They're cinnamon flavoured. I hope that's alright."
Yuyan stared at her. She didn't know what to do. The woman just sat there, expectantly, the box open on her lap. Eventually, Yuyan realised that she hadn't done anything wrong and relaxed. She took a doughnut and muttered a shy thank you before biting into it. It was delicious.
The woman smiled and grabbed her sleeve. Before Yuyan could react, she withdrew a pen from her pocket and wrote on her arm. "I've got to get off now, but I think you're cool. Call me."
And with that, she left as abruptly as she came; a cloudburst of happiness and warmth. Yuyan stared down at her arm. On it was a phone number, signed: Felicity 🌸. Her heart soared. She looked out the window and saw the woman, Felicity, watching her from the street. She smiled and waved shyly.
The city was still the same: the neon lights illuminating the streets, people eating and laughing. But now Yuyan felt like she was a part of it. She had a doughnut in her hand, a number on her arm and, finally, hope on her horizon.
