Pleasantly Forgettable...

Look at her. She has a round face, average brown eyes, medium full lips and long black hair.

On the street, if your eyes meet, you would think that she was pleasant enough, but the moment you walked on by, you wouldn’t remember anything about her, she would be forgotten.

She isn’t particularly pretty. There aren’t any features about her that stand out. Nor does she have any distinct disfigurement to speak of. Although, it would be unfair to refer to her as ugly, because…well, she is not.

Her charm, if you can call it such, is in her polite manners. That’s why the Old Man is in love with her. You could put it on her mother for teaching her so well. “Always respect your elders, say hello to them when you see them.”

That’s exactly what the girl did when she saw the Old Man on the street. She would give him a curt smile and say hello. Then she would progress to do whatever she had planned to.

I guess it’s a rare thing to witness young ones these days, paying respect to elders. He couldn’t remember the last time his grandchildren were so polite with his friends or anyone older than them. He felt fortunate that the girl validated his existence everyday.

People may find it odd that an old man the age of her grandfather, was so taken by her, enchanted. She is nowhere near beautiful. She isn’t even cute. The only feature that one might notice is her hair. Long and black and at times would reflect light like a river.

I wonder if he has ever looked into her eyes. I wonder if he has seen her sorrow that is kept under lock and key within her heart. Perhaps then she would leave an impression on the Old Man far greater than the self satisfaction that she provides with the simple hello.

Lately, she has been hiding. Harbouring a lot of pain and fearing the day she has to face the world. The Old Man misses his hellos. He bumps into her mother on the street and tells her that she is fortunate to have such a good daughter; that her daughter is so well mannered and polite. He dares not ask what has happened to her daughter. Discretion is a virtue. But nevertheless he is wondering what has come of the girl, as he speaks to her mother.

I guess, no one will ever know what has happened to the pleasantly forgettable girl. But, will anyone remember to ask her mother of her?