Stranger in the Metro

She noticed him because of the way he dressed. It was simple and camouflaged with everyone else, but he stood out to her for some reason. The way he carried himself, the way he wore his casquette, the way he swayed as he stood beside her waiting on the quai of the Concorde station waiting for the metro. Any minute now...

She caught his eye too. He stood nervous, almost. One glance wasn't enough, neither was the second. She was his newest addiction among his many. Every stolen look at her made him shiver much harder than any Parisian winter. He just couldn't stop staring. She didn't seem to notice him, and he wished she did.

The metro pulls into the station and through separate doors, they get on the same car, meeting in the middle, sitting in seats face-to-face. How perfect, he thinks. How perfect, she thinks. Yet, they ignore each other.

She kept looking out the windows, watching him only through the side of her eyes. As she started dreaming of the world above ground, he couldn't help but take in her every detail. She kept her chestnut hair neatly pulled back, but loose. Her hazel eyes glowed of youthful passion even in the metro's fluorescent lighting. Freckles paraded across her pale skin from one rose cheek, over the nose and onto the other rose cheek.

No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't figure her out. She wasn't from here. There was something different about her. He could tell she was a dreamer, but her expression was almost that of anger. She intimidated him. He tried to find something to talk to her about.

She tried to memorize his face with every half-a-second glance. After all, time was running out. At the most, she had five minutes to enjoy his presence before she reached her final destination, unless he got off before that. He had one freckle placed perfectly between his eye and upper cheek bone. His tame scruff hid his youthful face. He could not have been older than 25. She could read his nervousness as his fingers played with a light blue bracelet from some South American country. He chewed compulsively on a toothpick. When she looked away, she could feel his piercing dark brown eyes dissecting her. The feeling was uncomfortable, yet thrilling. There was no explanation.

Charles De Gaulle Étoile


He gets up slowly as the metro begins to slow down. As he waits by the door, she stares at him, wondering if he will look back one last time. The doors burst open. He takes the toothpick out of his mouth, turns to look at her one last time. Their eyes meet. His eyes smile. She returns the gesture with an acknowledging smile as her cheeks flush a darker pink. He steps off the metro and the doors behind him close. He wished he had talked to her.

Her metro begins to move again, faster and faster now, down its hundred-something-year-old rails. She wished she had talked to him. That would be the closest she would ever be to him, unless fate brought them together again.

Argentine


She snaps out of her dream state and realizes the metro had frozen time. She gets up and walks back into reality.