ᯓᡣ𐭩

♪ Yeah, this train never sleeps ♪

⊹ ࣪ ˖

You saw him first on the metro. Always the same seat, same 8:07 train, always reading something worn and thick. He never looked up. You always sat across, earbuds in, pretending not to watch him flip each page like it mattered.

✮⋆˙

Rainy mornings turned to frost. Coats got heavier, glances lingered longer. One morning, he looked up just as you looked away. The next, their eyes met. Just for a second. Enough to spark something.

⋆. 𐙚 ̊

A week later, he wasn’t reading. Just… waiting. A space open beside him. You hesitated, then sat. Elbows brushing with every curve of the track. Neither moved. You dropped your glove. He picked it up. Your fingers touched.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

Spring crept in. Seats filled. They stood now, closer. Your hand found the pole. His hand found yours. No one noticed.

˚⋆𐙚｡ 𖦹.ᡣ𐭩˚

One morning, you brought a book. The same author he’d been reading for weeks. You didn’t open it. Just held it where he could see. He smiled, just barely. Not a word. Just a moment. Real, electric. You didn’t need introductions. The city knew your rhythm. So did the train. By summer, they stepped off at the same stop. Together. But he didn’t look back.