When Stars Align

Overcrowded.

The train carriage was more crowded than usual on this chilly New York morning. At least fifty people had packed onto this carriage. At least everyone was being kept warm, whether they liked it or not. She sat there, journal in hand, sketching away. She erased some previous sketches to make room in the journal. She began with the hair, a messy array of pencil marks turned into a faded replication of his hair. She moved on to the lips; the lips she imagines herself kissing. She bit her own at the thought, and the butterflies were slowly redeveloping in her stomach.

The train came to a halt. The elderly woman who sat next to her got up and stepped off the train; as did many people on the carriage. The next dozen people piled on. She looked up, hoping to see him. To her surprise, he wasn't there. She furrowed her eyebrows, both confused and upset. She found herself looking out the window, her journal opened wide to the sketch of him. While still gazing out the window at the people on the platform, she heard someone clear their throat. Startled, she turned and looked, only to find him standing before her, asking to occupy the empty seat next to her. She could feel her cheeks go red as she nodded and smiled, moving over slightly to allow him in.

He sat down so close to her, he could probably hear her heart beating out of her chest with excitement and hope. He smiled at her, acknowledging and thanking her. She nodded while looking away to clean herself up. She turned back to see him staring down at her journal. She joined him in looking down, only to find that he was looking at the sketch she had just been drawing before he took a seat. Mortified, she slammed the journal shut, once again going red in the face; but of course not for the same reason as earlier. He chuckled, looking up at her and pushing his glasses back gently against his nose. "Sorry," she said; softly. He shook his head, not letting go of his smile. "It's okay. It's a beautiful sketch," he replied, winking at her.

"Do you mind?" he asked, pointing at her journal. She laughed, and handed him her journal, and he began to flick through her sketches and calligraphy. He examined the book, fascinated by its contents. He got back to the sketch of him, and was in absolute awe.

"You're incredibly talented, I'm very impressed," he said, handing back the book.

"I'm Sabrina," she stuck her hand out.

"Oliver," he replied, taking her hand and shaking it gently. There they were again. Those sparks, that electricity she felt the first time their hands touched a mere two days ago on the stair railing of the carriage in which they were sitting.

They began to talk. Endlessly. About anything and everything; as if they had known each other forever. When either said something funny, they would laugh together, and he would gently place his hand on her leg. It was something she had never felt before. All she could think about in that moment was how much she wanted to kiss him; and the feelings were mutual. Though never communicated, they felt the same way about each other and could tell by the way they both acted. It was something special, and Sabrina hoped to gain something out of these day-to-day interactions that would make her day better. They both forgot about their worries, and lived in the moment, constantly smiling and giggling; like a couple deeply in love.

They both let out gentle sighs of sadness as the train pulled in to their stop. Oliver jumped out of his seat. "Do you want to go out sometime?" he asked, looking down nervously. Following his footsteps, she stood up and placed her hand gently under his chin, lifting it up allowing his eyes to make contact with hers. "I would love to," she said. As giddy as he could be, he adjusted his navy jumper before heading up the stairs. Sabrina stayed behind a second, writing something else in her journal. She kept her index finger on the page and gently closed the journal, not wanting to lose her place. Making her way up the stairs and off the train she opened the journal once again to the page, ripped out the bottom right corner, and handed it to him. He looked at her and smiled. You could see his smile in his eyes, pure excitement for the future. "I guess I'll call you then," he said, holding up the torn piece of paper he had just been handed with Sabrina's phone number written on it.

They said their goodbyes before going their separate ways. "Until tomorrow," she whispered.

"I'm sorry?" he replied.

"Until tomorrow," she repeated herself, smiling kindly. She turned to walk away, and she relived that half-an-hour over and over in her head, eager to start and finish the day, to get home to his call.