"Good morning, brothers and sisters in the Lord!" The middle-aged man dressed in a dirty grey suit with a big bible shouted moments after he got onto the bus. He seemed to be drunk with the word of the Lord and little wine.
At the rear end of the luxurious bus sat Heaven—a pretty young lady with a burnished complexion. Her feelings were hidden on her innocent face. Her pain was evident in the crinkle of her lovely brow and the down-curve of her full lips. But her eyes reflected her soul, and in it was an ocean of sorrows.
For the first time since she entered the bus, she raised her head to take a really hard, long look at the strange preacher.
In split seconds, she examined him and drew up a conclusion—he must be a jobless man, probably with five children and a wife. This morning, he woke up, dug up that suit, which has no current relationship with a pressing iron, dusted his bible, and off he went to the nearest bus station, waiting for the arrival of this bus.
In about fifteen minutes, he would rant and rave, gesticulating wildly, telling them about the love of Christ, His healing power, unfailing protection, and His reward of everlasting life, which He will only give if, first, we give Him our lives. He would then pray with velocity, energy, and a pious sincerity that could melt even the most stubborn atheist's icy heart, carefully choosing his words.
Before going into the real business, he would then call on a lady who has paid undivided attention to his sermon, asking her to collect offerings, even tithe, from everyone. Nothing is too small, and your token will enable the church to move to a permanent site.
A thin smile appeared on her lips; staring straight at the preacher, she murmured
"Fake pastor! I decoded those tricks a long time ago. If your God is that good, how come you are this wretched? I want nothing to do with such a god."
After a long hiss, already feeling simmering anger in her chest, she slowly rests her head against the seat in front, sinking back into her thoughts.
Heaven is heartbroken, filled to the brim with regret and remorse. She has given up on life, love, and even God. Attempted suicide twice but lacked the balls to go through with it. Every ounce of her wished she had the nerve to swing her body off the top of a building, to walk deep into the depths of the ocean and stay down under, to take a gun and place the cold metal down her throat, pulling the trigger, shooting away the pain.
Everything has fallen apart; nothing holds any longer. She is just twenty-four, but soon she will be counting days to the end of her life that just began. Everything that once brought her pleasure now brings only misery and untold pain. Why did it happen to her? How could love be this wicked? How could just one mistake lead to such grave disaster?
She is in so much emotional pain, and it doesn't hurt as a cut or a bruise would. It is just this heavy feeling. Her head spins, and the only explanation she can sum up for the pain is how she is the cause. All that does is bring even more pain.
A headache started in the back of her skull, pounding, warning her she wouldn't like what she found. She fought her thoughts backwards, pushing through to remember the cause of this emotional pain.
Her life took a drastic turn about six months ago. In a bus just like this one, she sat next to Peter, a fine-looking young man with a great body and adventurous personality. His face was strong and defined; his features molded from granite. He had brown eyes and dark eyebrows, which slid downwards in a serious expression. He had prominent cheekbones and a well-defined chin. He was in a stunning outfit. At the sight of him, she miraculously fell under his spell. The feeling was so strong and beyond her control. After she tried everything within her power to get his attention and failed.
She bit her lip. How would she start a conversation with someone she just met? Then in that instant he turned and caught her eye; before she could turn away bashfully a genuine grin appeared across his face, turning it from handsome to divine. At that moment she felt her body flush warm. This was a person; she wants to know more. This was a guy she could love forever.
When he said, "Hi, my name is Peter!" a playful smile cut a hard line across his face. He had the most magnificent voice—soft and low, each syllable articulated, with flowing rhythm and inflection that was almost musical with a hypnotic effect. Her heart fluttered as a million butterflies zipped inside her stomach. He seemed to like her and found her interesting, as a few minutes afterwards, both of them were laughing and giggling like children, resulting in a stare all over the bus.
It was as if time and space became the finest point imaginable, as if time collapsed into the tiny speck and exploded at light speed. From that very moment, every other person or thing faded into the background. All that mattered was the handsome devil beside her.