The hour neared five and the evening sky donned its overcast veil. A gentle breeze flirted with the trees, the scent of fresh leaves enchanting the senses. Surely, no evening could have been more serene.

The bus harboured but three souls — two were elderly men, and the third was myself, ensconced by a window seat. Lost in the spectacle of nature’s quiet drama, I was oblivious to my new companion until a thin rustle of metallic tinkles brushed my peripheral vision. Turning, I beheld her, a vision perfectly suited to the evening’s grace. Her youth was suggested by her soft, delicate features, and her long, flowing hair framed hazel brown eyes that captivated instantly.

As the conductor neared, she presented a ten-rupee note, delicately signalling with four fingers her fare. Four rupees — where could she be journeying? “Are you getting down at Esplanade?” he inquired. A nod confirmed her destination. My stop was just beyond hers. Splendid — a companion for my ride.

“Do you often travel this route?” I asked.

Her response was but a sweet smile, her attention turning to her fingers. Had my words offended? Did I appear ungentlemanly? Maybe she belonged to that breed of the unreachables.

“It seems you prefer silence,” I ventured again, unable to resist, “You do look quite striking in that white dress.”

Her expression remained unchanged. My frankness had perhaps been too brash. “Apologies,” I murmured.

She inhaled sharply, meeting my gaze with a fierce intensity. I braced for a rebuke, recalling the advice about the perils of speaking with strangers. To my relief, there was no outburst. Instead, she demurred, her red nail polish seeming to lose its lustre, and I surmised that there needs to be some additional deliberation from my thoughts to my vocalisations.

When the bus halted, she rose with a sigh, descending the steps. Below, her father awaited, their reunion marked by visible joy.

As I turned away, something arrested my attention — her fingers. They moved not with words but with signs. In a silent dialogue with her father, the truth dawned upon me. What an egregious misjudgment on my part — and perhaps, a imbecilic oversight.

A wave of guilt and empathy washed over me as she waved a gentle ‘bye.’ As the bus trundled forward, I, too, chose silence, newly aware of the volumes unspoken.