The train was packed, every seat filled, people swaying side to side with the jerks of movement. You stood, clutching the railing, when a deep voice broke through the noise. “Here, take my seat,” he said. You looked down and froze—John Abraham, in a hoodie and cap, his face partially hidden, but unmistakable. His eyes caught yours, warm yet teasing, as though amused at your stunned silence.

You tried to protest, saying you were fine standing, but he insisted, his hand briefly brushing yours as he guided you down to the empty seat. The crowd moved around you, but suddenly the world felt smaller, quieter. Every time you glanced up, you caught him watching you, his lips tugging into the faintest smirk when your eyes met.