Racist Girl Vol. 14: Recovery

Loss.

Grief.

Acceptance.

Shuddering self-pity.

All these are RD felt 20 minutes after getting onto the train to nowhere. It was to nowhere, since he didn't bother looking where he was going. That was 2 months ago.

Snap back to the present and he sits perfectly relaxed in a random bistro, clean shaved, freshly showered and looking sharp. Sipping a tall mocha grande, RD does not glance around and look at the crowd. In fact the slight smile on his face suggests that he's well aware of his surroundings, but isn't interested enough to look around.

He exudes a quiet confidence, certain about himself for once and not distracted. At least 7 pairs of eyes give him a once over, but he doesn't notice. He really doesn't.

Book in hand, RD has everything that he needs. Time, peace and a contentedness that he finds strangely appealing and worrying at the same time. He smile falters for a split second, but he recovers.

Time seems to move slowly more leisurely for RD as he thumbs through his book and sips on a warm cup of coffee.

He suddenly looks up from his book, making eye contact with a girl as she decides to give him a second look over. He smiles, she blushes. The first contact is made.

A recovery...

Peace.