He sat there for what could have been the hundredth time.

Back arched over his notebook, rewriting the story to keep all the little details alive in his memory. He scratched the paper, relentlessly, filling the pages under the amused looks of pedestrians. He had long become the neighbourhood’s curiosity. The bus stop’s bench was far from the most comfortable place to spend time in town, yet he sat there every coming Friday evening.

People wondered what he scribbled in his little book. Some imagined he might be a wannabe writer of some sort, others figured he was just nuts. Neither were right, nor far from the truth.

He wrote, week after week, the story of her departure. She was an adventurer… She had always been. He liked the comfort of his routine, and knew he was born, was living and would die in this tranquile subburb. He had remained the strongly rooted tree in their story, and eventually, she had left, like the flying loose leaf she was.

Sometimes he wrote her in a flashy colored dress, with her hair flowing freely on her bare shoulders under her large summer hat. Sometimes she wore a warm winter coat, with a sable fur lining, her hair pulled up in an elegant hairdo.

But everytime, she left a soft peck on his cheek, picked her suitcase, and walked to the bus, only turning towards him to tell him,

I’ll be back, Dearest… Friday… Someday.

Passers by were getting rare, as the hours went by. Untill he found himself sitting there completely alone. The lights in the nearby houses dying one by one. But he always insisted on staying until all hopes were vain. And they always were.

He was re-reading his evening’s writings when the last bus’ lights appeared down the road. At this time of night, the driver didn’t stop in this part of town, but he was pulled from his usual reveries, when he heard the unusual sound of the bus breaking.

He closed his notebook and shoved it in his handbag. He could feel his palms getting wet, despite the freezing weather.

When the bus came to a halt, he couldn’t see the silhouette about to step down, in the backlighting. It was definately feminine, but his mind had played games on him several times in the past…

He held his breath, as a knee-high leather boot appeared in the street light halo.

Could it be…? At long last…?

Via today’s Fandango’s One Word Challenge; Tease