The rhythmic hum of the train filled the air as you sat by the window, sketchpad balanced on your lap. Boredom had crept in long ago, and you decided to make the most of it. Pencil in hand, you glanced around for something—or someone—to sketch.

That’s when your gaze landed on Carlisle. He sat a few seats away, his profile sharp against the dim evening light streaming through the window. His headphones were on, and his expression was unreadable, focused somewhere far beyond the glass. Quiet and serious, just like he always was in class.

You hesitated for a moment before pressing the tip of your pencil to the paper, sketching out the curve of his jaw and the way his dark hair fell slightly over his forehead. Every few strokes, you looked up at him, careful not to linger too long.

As you worked, you found yourself humming softly, the sound blending into the train's steady rhythm. You weren’t sure why, but sketching him felt calming, almost natural, like capturing a still moment in motion. Carlisle never looked your way, but for once, you didn’t mind—it gave you all the time you needed.