The Girl with the Yellow Umbrella

It was Friday and the snow had just begun to fall as people exited their workplaces, ready to enjoy the weekend and be with their friends and family. The streets seemed to come alive and the sidewalks became full of people. It seemed like everyone in the entire city of London was ready to start the weekend and forget about their work issues, myself included. Not because I was worn from filming and I wanted to get home before the snow really came down but because it was Friday and every Friday at 4:15 PM, I'd see her. I didn't know her name or what she did. Actually, I didn't know anything about her. I knew what she looked like. I knew her voice. I knew that smile. I knew that yellow umbrella she always seemed to carry with her. She was an enigma to me and yet, she was captivating.

After glancing at my watch to check the time, I headed for the the Tube, not wanting to miss the train that stopped off at my place and not wanting to miss seeing her again. Luckily for me, no one realized who I was. Everyone was more consumed with the thought of getting home than the thought than the Benedict Cumberbatch was among them.

As I got down into the lower levels of London, I saw her standing off to the side. Her dark hair was kept together in a tidy braid that fell over her shoulder. Those ocean-blue eyes sparkled with amusement as she looked around, people watching. Her clover-like lips were curved into a smile as she watched a young couple bicker. There was a rosy color to her cheeks from the cold but it just suited her pale skin. In her right hand, was that familiar yellow umbrella that she carried around every single time I saw her. I had seen her in so many different outfits that the dark blue waist coat she wore didn't hide the womanly curves to her slender body. She was petite but not in the extreme and yet, the look in her eyes gave the sense that just because she was small, she was not easily taken over.

This was the girl that I couldn't stop thinking about.

I walked towards her, stopping right next to her. She knew who I was but didn't make a huge fuss over being near someone famous; it was as if she just didn't care about that.

"Hello, Mr. Cumberbatch," she greeted with a smile.

"Hello again," I smiled, looking down at her, "How many times have I told you that you can just call me Ben?"

She never called me by my first name. I wasn't sure if it was her being polite or it was something she just did. Or maybe she knew that I didn't know her first name. If that was the case, she still had an advantage over me: I didn't even know her last name, let alone her first.

"It must be Friday," she joked, knowing that the only time we saw each other was on Friday.

"Yes it is," I replied, "How was your day."

"Same old, same old," she answered as the train pulled up, "Yours?"

We always made light conversation. At first, it was just a way to pass the time, nothing personal, but now, I wanted to know more about her. At least, I wanted to know what her name was. I honestly refered to her as "the girl with the yellow umbrella" when I knew in my heart there was much more to her than just that.

As soon as we got onto the train, I watched as she immediately took her usual seat. I wasn't sure if was a habit or she was OCD but I just came to the conclusion that she liked that seat. Luckily for me, the seat next to her was typically vacant so I took it, hoping that today would be the day that I learned her name.

I didn't know how to carry on the earlier brief conversation so we sat there in silence, just watching everything go by. Softly, Louis Armstrong's cover of Edith Piaf's "La Vie En Rose" played throughout the compartment. It was a lovely song that always seemed to put a small smile on my face. Just as softly, a voice quietly sang along, knowing all the words. I looked beside me and there she was, staring at the window, singing along to this beautiful song. I must have heard a million renditions of this song a million times over the years before but this performance, the first time I've ever heard her sing, will always be my favorite.

"That was beautiful," I said when the song ended.

She looked at me and for a split second, I saw the sadness in her eyes. It quickly disappeared as a small smile formed on those clover-like lips. "My mother used to sing that to my siblings and me before we went to bed."

"It was lovely."

The train started slowing down, indicating we were coming to a stop. This was her stop and it would be another week before I'd see her again. It was going to be another seven days before I got the chance to figure out her name and I was really in no mood to wait that long. I watched as she picked up her umbrella from underneath her seat, getting ready to exit.

"What is your name," I blurted out as she stood up.

A small laugh escaped as she looked at me. "Its Thalia."

Thalia. She shared the name of a Greek muse and from my perspective, they both were just as beautiful.

"See you next week, Thalia," I called as she started heading towards the doors.

"I have a feeling you'll see me sooner than that, Ben."

With that she exited the train, leaving me surprised at the fact that she finally used my first name. Thalia also left me with the beautiful memory of her singing "La Vie En Rose".