The first time you saw him, you didn’t think much of it. The metro station was buzzing with people, the usual shuffle of feet and hum of voices. You were about to step into the train when you noticed him—sitting casually on one of the seats outside, elbows resting on his knees. His gaze flickered near you, then drifted elsewhere as if pretending to blend into the noise of the place. But just before the doors closed, he looked up fully, eyes sweeping from the floor until they landed on you. It wasn’t long, just a second—but enough for you to feel it. Then the doors slid shut, and you thought that would be the last time.

But fate had other plans. Days later, as you entered the metro again, there he was. Not outside this time, but inside, already seated. You almost didn’t notice at first—until you caught his eyes across the aisle. The faintest smile curved on his lips, almost shy but steady enough to hold your attention. That little dimple appeared when he did, softening his face in a way that made him look even younger, even sweeter.

You sat down, your heartbeat doing more than it needed to for such a simple thing. The sound of the train’s doors closing, the chatter of strangers, it all faded a little when you realized he was sitting across from you. Staring wasn’t polite, so he didn’t do it fully—but every now and then, his gaze found its way back, holding for a breath longer than necessary. It felt like a beginning, though neither of you had said a single word.