Less than two hours.
Melbourne Train Girl didn't take the train today. That is why she is early. She will sit outside the State Library and eat the mandarine she found in her bag while she waits. The scent will linger on her hands and when the Short Boy arrives he will smile and comment on it. Then the next time someone is sitting nearby him, breaking soft orange skin with their fingers, he will think of her. Or so Melbourne Train Girl likes to hope.
There is a man nearby her with his shoes off. He is slouched, in an olive green knitted jumper with a forest green parka hanging on the back of his chair. He looks very bored. Melbourne Train Girl looks at the rolled up cuffs of his jeans, and his black socks. The heavy creases in the back of his jumper distract her for at least several minutes.
Less than an hour and a half.
The tiny butterflies inside Melbourne Train Girl's stomach are growing more restless. They have begun to dance and chase each other in and out of her ribs, following one another up to her chest, to quicken her heart just a little. Melbourne Train Girl's right shoe is coming apart. She should have chosen a less worn pair, but she will have to walk home from the station. And these are comfortable. He will find them charming, she decides. The butterflies laugh and dance faster at her optimism.
Less than one hour.
There has still been no real kiss. How will he greet her tonight? The butterflies swarm at the thought of his lips. Melbourne Train Girl takes a breath and lets the air escape very slowly from her nose. She closes her eyes. She had not worn a very heavy coat tonight, and the air is very cold. She wonders if he will warm her with an arm around her shoulders. If he does, Melbourne Train Girl will turn to face him, take his hands and draw them around her waist. And then she will kiss him. If he doesn't, she will possibly still do the same.
Less than half an hour.
She will kiss him.
And hopefully he will kiss her back.