I’m not going to be that guy.

I’m not going to be that guy that falls in love with some girl on the subway, just because he sees her everyday and just because she’s kinda the most beautiful person he’s ever laid his eyes on. That’d be supremely stupid and a waste of time.

Not when I have other things I should be thinking about, like how much I hate my job and the only good thing about my day is seeing her.

, wait. Forget that last part.

I’m not going to think about her.

Even though she’s right in front of me. Just like she usually is when I, totally on accident, stand across from her usual spot. At least, when I can, when it’s not too busy.

But is there any harm, in simply admiring?

It’s all I can really do.

I don’t even know if she speaks Korean.

With her brown skin, glowing like the sun might be trapped underneath. And brown eyes, I’ve made contact with a few too many times- she probably already knows. Probably thinks I’m a creep.

I sigh, leaning my head on the metal pole.

Of course, it was the hair I noticed first. How could anyone not?

Black, curly, round. Ringlets brushing lightly across her shoulders, usually hitting some brightly colored cardigan. Bold red today. As if she needed help standing out.

My eyes flutter shut in frustration and I the inside of my bottom lip.

It’s stupid to grow attach to a stranger. It’s stupid to listen to playlists and create some movie in my head where the lyrics are about us. It’s stupid to become that guy. But it’s not like I did this on purpose.

I feel someone bump my side and reluctantly look over.

There’s a waft, like freshly crushed roses.

“Sorry,” a shy, uncertain voice says. One that hopes the syllables have been pronounced correctly enough. And then the scratch of a throat clearing.

I notice the hand beneath mine first. Grasping the pole hard, a familiar shade of pecan brown that might just taste just as sweet.

I can’t look over. I physically can’t.

I’m telling myself to, but my head doesn’t move. But then she shifts, tall enough to catch my eyes without me having to move. Which I still can’t do.

“Oh,” my mouth drops, in surprise. “I-it’s okay.” I stutter, feeling my cheeks warm and bending my head down. Why'd I get a haircut last week? Now there's nothing to behind.

She smiles. Full pink lips stretching to show the gap in her front teeth.

“I see you a lot. You get off on the same stop, right? We must work near each other.”

It’s a series of sentences I don’t expect. Three whole sentences at a pace I should be able to follow, considering her slight hesitation. The way she talks is cute, like stepping on boulders to cross a river. Intentional and determined, but a pause between movements. But I don’t expect it, so it takes me a moment too long to comprehend.

“Oh,” I say, in confirmation or maybe that’s the only damn sound I can get out. “I, uh, see you a lot too.”

More like stare at you a lot.

She nods, pouting her lips in a tight circle, blowing air in her cheeks. Showing me she’s been here long enough to develop some habits shown by the Korean girls.

The woosh of the doors opening causes both of us to turn. My hand slides down the pole, as I shift my satchel, getting ready to leave. And like that, the side of my pinky presses against the side of her thumb.

We both bounce up in surprise at the shock.

Out comes the cutest “omo” I’ve ever heard.

And I have to get out, before my body like… combusts. It’s too little to feel like this much. I know. I know this isn’t a moment that can build into anything else. We’re still just strangers. I'm stupid, but not stupid enough to continue letting hope build for nothing.
 

I take my hand away and step out the subway, heading toward the stairs without turning back.

But I forget we’re similar heights, therefore take similar strides.

And she’s still right next to me. And it’s perfect and heaven and hell and I’m dramatic and still too young to be brave.

“Hey, um. I’m Kelly. By the way.” The “l” sound comes out in a mixture of “l” and “r”.

I abruptly stop without realizing and turn to her to repeat. We're standing in the middle of the staircase, which pisses people off but I don't care because this is just like a scene from my playlist.

“Kelly.” I want to say it again. It's too short. I want to drag it out. Taste it a little longer. 

She seems to nod and smile in encouragement.

But I don’t know what to say next.

“What’s your name?” Kelly. moves up a step and over, closer to the metal handrail, out the way of other people, right in front of me.

Her eyes peak underneath now more accentuated eyelashes and I can't help but look down at her lips again which tease in closeness.

I tell her my name.

“Did you want to get coffee? If you have time?” and I can tell the uncertainty now is not just with the language, but the proposition itself.

I tell her I do.