Molly didn’t like being watched. The feeling of somebody’s eyes following her, made her head feel heavy and her blood somehow too hot for her circulatory system. Was it because of that boy in her kindergarten class that spied on her, changing into her favourite pyjamas, on that cursed Wednesday that one time? Was it because of her mother, who had already lost a daughter, and the fact that she used to hold her hand a little too tight while crossing the road? People fear many things; she had some friends that were scared of being watched too, and so her irrational fear never bothered her too much. But as soon as she got on the bus, she felt it. Quicker breath, sweaty palms, and that sudden urge to run or hide or to scratch on her itchy skin lighting up like a Christmas tree everywhere his eyes touched her. He sat in the back, dark sunglasses on, rocking gently as he followed the movements of the bus. There wasn’t anything extraordinary about him. White man, approximately in his forties, with a baseball cap throwing shade on his already invisible eyes. She seated herself at the very front, wanting to be as far away from him as humanly possible. A single tear of sweat parted from her forehead and fell on the bus floor as if in slow motion. The man stood up. She heard the shuffling gait and the odd persistent thumps of something metal echoing through the aisle. “Excuse me,” he mumbled as his white cane tapped her shoe. He got off the bus and stood there for a second before he took off his glasses, revealing milk-white lenses. No one would believe her, but Molly could swear, as the bus was driving away, he winked at her.
