Hey, Stranger. We meet again. Same time, same place, exhausting every 30-minute morning trip with quick, embarrassed glances. It’s been ten months since that stormy encounter, do you remember? You sat beside me a couple of times, smiled at me thrice and offered to open the door twice.
You carry that Toshiba laptop bag like a construction worker is married to his tools. You slide your terribly old Nokia phone in the side pocket of your polo shirt, sleeves rolled quite so untidily. Occasionally you pair a slim tie with distressed jeans and loafers. Unpredictably cute.
I notice how you carefully examine the stuff I carry around, like my pink lunch bag with the letter “P” stitched at the front. That should give you a clue. I have also observed that you easily get uncomfortable when I stare back and hold my gaze. Yes I can be creepy too, sometimes.
But ultimately, that is all there is to it. So maybe if we run into each other in a different, more casual venue, get properly introduced and, without motive, realize that to each other, we were never really strangers.