Train

Linsey saw him every day. Sitting on the train, perfectly quiet, perfectly still. Looking not quite out the window and not quite out into space, he looked so rooted in thought that should the train derail, Linsey believed that it would crumple around him and he would be untouched.

She wanted to ask him what he was thinking about. She imagined what he might say. He’s a student remembering his last lesson. Or a young professor pondering the next one. An engineer planning details, or a philosopher conceiving truth.

Today was Linsey’s birthday, and she was wondering again. Her stop was still three stops out, and she decided to give herself a present.

She walked over. “Hey,” she said. He looked up. “I see you here every day, and, um...” she looked down, then back. “I’ve always wanted to know what you’re thinking so intently.”

He looked at her. “Um, wow,” he said. “It’s kinda weird. You’ll think it’s weird.” She waited. “I mostly daydream about what would happen if a girl came up and asked me what I was thinking, uh, so intently.”

“Is this... how you imagined it?”

“Not really.” He blushed. Linsey blushed.

“I’m Linsey,” she said.