By Pedro Villa

The train doors hissed shut, and he finally did it. After seven months of watching him bop his head to music Alex can faintly hear, muffled, in those black Beats headphones on the 7:45 B train, Alex shuffled over. The air in the car smelled faintly of faded cigarette smoke and damp wool.

He looked up, his eyes exactly the color of honey brought up to a boil atop a flame. They caught the gray, flickering light of the train car. “Hi. I know this is weird, but I see you here every morning and I just…had to say something.”

He smiled, a perfect, movie-ready scene that made Alex forget the shaky steel car and the fingerprints and dried water droplets on the door windows. Here goes nothing…

“It’s about time! I was starting to think you were a ghost that only wanted to be seen at the Fordham station. I’m Luke.” His voice was a low, easy rumble, like the distant sound of the train on a straight track. He had the kind of worn leather satchel that suggested a job involving books or maybe architecture. “I’m Alex. I kept waiting for the perfect cinematic moment. You know? The one where I drop my copy of The Pumpkin Spice Cafe and we both go to pick it up and our fingers brush each other.” “Oh, I see you’re into those love tropes. I like those, too,” Luke said, adjusting the scarf tucked under his chin. It was a deep forest green, the color Alex had already decided was his favorite.

Alex chuckled, feeling the pressure release from his chest. “I think we’re building a conversation that’s already lasted longer than my last few relationships combined.”

Two weeks blurred into a month. The train rides on the B train weren’t just a commute anymore; they were their mornings of intense staring and whispered philosophical debates. The passing stations, 145th, 125th, were just a blurry backdrop to their unfolding life. The smell of exhaust and burnt brake pads was irrelevant.

“No, you don’t understand.” Alex huffed. “The best part of my day is realizing that 7:45 isn’t the destination. It’s this tiny little bubble where we get to exist before the real world starts.” “I feel the same way, Alex. You’re a poet. Would it be crazy to think that I’d want no one else to stare into my soul the way you do? You’re the reason I get up for the first edition news on my phone—I need to be ready for our morning briefing.” “You read my mind, Luke. I mean seriously, when is the wedding at this point?” Alex giggled.

Luke’s cheeks started to flush at the comment, a shade of rose that Alex mentally filed away. “See, now that you mention it, Alex, our wedding would be quite unique. The whole thing feels a bit like a beautiful, inevitable disaster. Like a really good tragedy.” He leaned closer, the intensity in his eyes challenging the whole ridiculous notion.

The wedding planning gained momentum. They started to plan it with the seriousness of two people who knew exactly what they wanted. “It won’t be a disaster, Luke!” Alex exclaimed. “It will be a beginning. October 15th, make note of the date. We’re doing it at a cabin upstate, remember? You’ve already scoped it out.” “Oooo, perfect date. It’s the perfect blend of warmth and the beginning of the end…Spooooky. We can serve spiced cider and have a huge bonfire.” Luke said excitedly. “You know me so well, Luke. I mean, it’s perfect. Everything we built on this train, coming to life.”

Alex tilted his head, feeling dizzy. The train began to slow, the brakes squeaking a long, dreadful, note that cut through the silence.

Alex was looking up at the faded advertisements for a cook book and MTA rules. Luke was just there. He didn’t look up. He hadn’t heard him. He hadn’t said a word. He was just a shape in a forest green scarf, bouncing his head silently to music Alex could only imagine. Alex’s stop was approaching.

Alex hadn’t moved. Hadn’t spoken. Hadn’t been able to. The only sound was the familiar, gentle hiss of the doors opening, followed by the distant rumble of the next train pulling into the tunnel.

“It was nice talking to you, Luke,” Alex thought. A simple farewell, because the plans to get married were for a beautifully undead wedding day.

Alex never spoke a word to Luke. He just let the stares, the delusion, and their perfect, unrequited love accompany him off the 7:45 B train.

“Until tomorrow, Alex.” “Until tomorrow, Luke.” … If that’s even what his name was.