She listens to his story. Normally, she would be politely smiling, but she was in no mood today.  She does nod to show she listened with an "uh-huh" here or an "mmhmm" there.  All things she was taught to do to keep someone talking.  She does it without thinking now.  The story strikes her with a few thoughts off the top of her head.  The first being 'sounds like a lead up to a bad joke.'  Another thought was 'this guy tries too hard.'  These were things that she did not say.  She does wring out her shirt over the floor though, a way to hide her thoughts and to shift with unease without telecasting herself.<br/><br/>She sits back and looks to his face again as he pauses.  This is her cue to urge him on, she knows.  She desparately wants to dash, but how awkward would that be?  She pictures it in her head - her asking him to hand her the books so she can rudely run away from his sob story.  She had one of her own and manners will dictate her sharing it.  She did not want to share it.  She did not want his.  But here she was with his and hers looming in the near future.  Her eyes dart about the space around them.  It had filled.  There were no spare seats.  She was stuck.  She looks back to him, not liking the way he dicides how she would know or not know something.  Still, she says nothing about it.  She only says "I'm going to guess by the way you say that, that you were not the soulmate and the day was not spent listening to your ipod."  It was her best way of prompting him as the situation demanded in spite of her desire to just hide and cry herself.  Why was it that even when she was in the biggest pain, she still ended up being someone else's shoulder and comforter?  The question gnawed at her heart, the heart that begged to be selfish for just once.