We’re in a subway train.
She’s located one-third the way from the left of my vision, and one-third the way from the top of my vision. I’m applying the rule of thirdsーit makes her stand out more. Nah, I’m just lying to myself. I haven’t got the courage to look at her directly.
With my head in situ, I glance at her face. She’s looking straight at me. Her eyes meet mine. I guess she knows that I’m looking at her- no, it’s obvious that I’m looking at her, and she and I know it. Anyone who says otherwise is indubitably blind.
In defeat I turn my head quickly, but naturally (or at least I hope it is), to face her. Her expressionless face stares back. I greet her with a mild smile (or at least I think I did). It is a quick reflex that is not the most noticeable but neither all that regrettable.
I realize that I’ve been looking, no, staring at her for some time. I try to brush off the social awkwardness but I can’t; her brilliant blue gems have ensorcelled me. They remind me of the resplendent summer ocean and the dazzling summer sky, luring me towards her irresistibly. My mouth opens slightly in an attempt to resuscitate whatever residual consciousness I have. I didn’t want to look away.
Had she noticed the gesture? Would she return it? Was she the type who would talk to strangers? I wanted to know. Maybe she’d laugh. That wouldn’t be too bad.
My heart inflates into a bright little red balloon, floating insouciantly to the air with blithe ignorance to the world.
I begin to wonder if we should start a conversation, or if we would ever meet again somewhere.
Maybe I should go forward and ask her where her stop’s at and if she takes the train often. Maybe she’d reply in a mellifluous timbre that would take me to the cloud nine, and maybe up there, I’d invite her to join me. Maybe we would board the train up in the air and cruise high above the busy and boring city replete with dull melancholy, and feel free and alive and bursting with vivid ecstasy.
Maybe we’d even fall in love.
After meandering through the twists and turns of the clouds the train would slow and stop outside her place. The doors would open. Without looking back, she would alight the train, open her home’s gate and stroll up the porch where someone would be waiting. The door would close. I would stand behind the doors and watch her leaving, and when she would get smaller and smaller farther into the distance and ultimately vanishes before my eyes, whisper a goodbye through the frosty glass windows.
She tilts her head and stares out of the window.
We’d probably never meet again.