Seven years ago was when your soul was connected with his. As much as you’ve tried piece together the details of it—the date, the station, the time, etc.—you haven’t been able to figure out who that silver gaze, that ashen hair, belonged to. All you knew was that you saw that face for five seconds in a passing train’s window seven years ago and didn’t move on with the train. You’ve looked for him in every crowd, on every corner, since that day, to no avail.

Seven years later, you leave your apartment one morning. Seven years later, he leaves his apartment one morning. Suddenly, you’re staring at those same silver eyes—the ones from that fateful day—outside your door. Your head spins. Your lips part, then freeze. His lips part, then freeze. Was it really that simple the whole time?