Stranger's Kiss

            It was cold. It was cold, yet I was standing outside freezing my ass off. I sighed, and my breath escaped in a steamy swirl in the frosty air. The sun was setting, somewhere, but in the middle of this concrete and steel mess, it was already dark. I was standing against the wall, next to the entrance to the coffee shop, where I had left my things. I didn't want to go back in, couldn't.
            Lost in my thoughts, I hadn't realized that someone had taken the empty wall spot next to me. The rest of the wall was occupied by smokers. It was rather comical, this line of people leaning against the wall, smoking their cigarettes, but I didn't know why. I didn't care, really. I don't smoke. Then, the person next to me unexpectedly spoke up, breaking the unwritten rule of no communication between city strangers.
            "Do you have a light?"
            I turned my head to look at her. "Yeah," I replied, wondering why she would ask the one person on this wall who was not smoking. I fetched the lighter from my pant pocket, and handed it to her.
            She took it, brought it to her cigarette and flicked it a few times until she lit it. She was rather attractive, now that I took the time to actually look. Her short hair was a stylish mess, with strands sticking out haphazardly at all angles, in an eccentric but fitting assortment of purple, red and pink. It rather complemented her small but nicely shaped face, which was adorned with a small, pointy but elegant nose. She turned to hand back the lighter.
            "Thanks a bunch," she said with a large smile. She had clear brown eyes, with a dark green tinge around the edges.
            "Sure." I turned back to face forward, and resumed staring at the glass doors and glass windows and glass everything of the building on the other side of the street.
            "I don't actually smoke," she said after a while, breaking that rule again.
            "So...why?"
            "Life is hard." Such a line, from such a petite little girl with an innocent face. I wondered just how old she was.
            "It's a bitch," I agreed. It pretty much summed up my present feelings. She nodded, and fell silent again. This time the silence felt different, somehow. More companionable. Not the usual silence that followed a forced social interaction between two strangers who really wanted to be elsewhere instead of doing small talk.
            After some time, after my mind left, after the wall occupants changed, she spoke up again. "Want to talk about it?"
            "What?" I stared at her, a little surprised, a lot confused.
            "About how life's a bitch. Fine, I'll start." And she proceeded to tell me about what seemed like all of her life's problems. A boyfriend who was seeing other women. A long time friend who had left for another continent. A father dying of lung cancer (at which point she took a long drag from her cigarette). A mother who was slowing driving her insane. School. Work. Life. "What about you?" She looked at me expectantly.
            "Nothing much," I replied, not used to this kind of interaction with another person. She tilted her head slightly, and raised a delicate eyebrow, signaling a clear skepticism. I hesitated for a few moments then suddenly, facing those clear, innocent-looking eyes, I thought it would be okay. "We broke up. I came in today, I saw her in the far corner, talking to some guy, holding his hand." I realized it sounded rather insignificant in comparison. "Like I said, it's nothing much," I added.
            "So you're hiding from her?"
            "I guess."
            "Then won't she see you when she comes out?"
            "I guess." I hadn't thought of that.
            "Well, then," she announced with finality, and reverted to leaning against the wall, having apparently decided that the conversation was over.
            A few more moments in silence passed. This time, I felt it was heavy, pressing. There was an itching urge to say more. I looked over at her, but she seemed perfectly at ease, a slight smile gracing her lips as she looked at the passerbys. I stared at the glass building again, returning to my thoughts.
            "Can I kiss you?"
            I turned to stare at her.
            "Can I kiss you," she asked again, as if I hadn't heard.
            "I'm sort of taken."
            "'Taken' is such a pretentious term."
            "I meant I'm with someone."
            "I know. And that's a lie."
            "Damn." I turned away from her again. I knew I was avoiding her. And who wouldn't? Kiss me? What a craze. A few more moments passed in silence.
            "So why not?"
            I turned towards her again. "Because it doesn't make sense." I was getting angry, and I didn't know why.
            "So everything has to make sense to you? Does your life make sense to you?" She was getting aggressive too, but a little smirk kept on tugging at the corner of her lips.
            "Not always," I admitted.
            "Then let me kiss you."
            "No," I replied forcefully.
            "It will make you feel better. Let me kiss you. As a friend, only as a friend," she was almost begging, strangely enough. What in the world did I get into? I stared at her for a while longer.
            "Okay," came the reply, before I was even aware of formulating it. "As a friend," I insisted, and leaned my cheek towards her.
            She grasped my chin gently with cold fingers, and turned my head to face her. Then she stared deep in my eyes for a fraction of a second, closed her yes, and her lips touched mine, feather light. The pressure increased ever so slightly, and she pulled back, smiling.
            "If that's how you kiss your friends, I want to be one."
            "You are now." She winked, and without any warning, simply picked up her bag, and walked off skipping lightly, her flashy hair bouncing.