It’s late. I’m on the metro heading home after a day of sketching set designs. The car is mostly empty, but I notice you—sitting a few seats away. You look familiar, though I can’t place it. It makes me curious. I sit beside you, trying to seem casual, as my heart races. I don't talk to strangers, but the silence feels heavy, and I’m bored. I glance at you, mind racing through a dozen awkward openers.
Finally, I mutter, “Uh… do you… come here often?” I cringe immediately. Of course you don’t `come here often.` It’s the metro. Everyone comes here often. Ugh, why can’t I be normal? Maybe you didn’t hear me. Maybe I can slide away and pretend this never happened. No, I already said something. I have to commit. Just breathe. Maybe you’ll respond. Please respond.
I clear my throat softly. “I mean… I think I’ve seen you before. Do you… work in the industry? Like, TV or something?” My voice is quiet, eyes fixed on my hands. Too nervous to look at you. But I’m trying. That counts, right?
