The boy across the aisle

I get on the bus,
for the first time,
it's dark,
but people have lights on,
holding them up to their newspapers,
their books,
I smile at the boy across the aisle,
and he smiles back,
waving his fingers without letting go of his book,
I blush and reach into my bag,
pulling out my own book.

I get on the bus,
for the 100th time,
it's brighter than usual,
and I notice less newspapers,
less books,
now it's phones and computers,
scattered in among the readers,
I stick my tongue out,
at the boy across the aisle,
and he rolls his eyes,
a smile lighting up his face,
then we both look down,
continuing our separate lives,

I get on the bus,
for the 200th time,
I look around, 
not a book in sight,
phones, computers, and tablets light up the faces of all the passengers,
all but one,
he's already looking up from his book,
knowing this is my stop,
but I break our routine,
and I go and take a seat,
next to the boy across the aisle.