You glance at the glasspanel.

she sits alone in the corner, staring into space, big teardrops rolling down her pale complexion, her lips of the same pallor. You wonder what is wrong, if she had a reason to cry, if she even smiled at all.

you eyes remain fixed on her, listening to the laughter that rings against the hollow of this freezing lounge, where people of dazed expressions or big laughing mouths sat huddled in their sweaters and coats. she does not make one move, except for her trembling wet eyelashes. For one fleeting moment, you wish she would come to you, touch your warm hands with her icy ones and look at you.

Then you look up at the sign on the wall. "Not more than 70 persons are permitted in this lounge at any one time". if there were 70 people milling around, would she even notice?

what broke her heart? what made her shake so, her lips bloodless, the pain seized in the her iris, unobscured by the tears that constantly flooded her reddened and swollen eyelids before spilling over and crashing upton those soft cheekbones?

you smile humorlessly. Ignoring the non-smoking sign, you lit up, hoping she might notice, the obnoxious fumes, the swirling grey smoke. But she did not look up. instead, she sadly whipped the tears off her face with her sleeve, wearily piacked her bag and left.

You keep on smoking, a tad disappointed. BUt well, life goes on, there are things to do, people to meet.

Just another broken soul, another broken girl today.