Meeting

There's a person you don't know sitting across from you on the train -- not that this is terribly surprising, you often aren't acquainted with your fellow passengers. It's impolite to stare, but you've never been what people call "courteous." When your curiosity is piqued, it's all but impossible to avert your gaze from your object of interest. 

In this case, they sit prim and proper, but they slouch all the same. Their eyes are fixed on their smartphone before them like most others surrounding you, although they seem to sense your childlike wonder as they glance up, modestly.

Instead of turning your head down like the rest of the universe would have done, you proudly meet their questioning green eyes. They're the shade that olives are, and they're framed beautifully by such dark powdered skin. Faint traces of makeup leave a rose tint upon their cheeks, and they quirk a perfectly imperfect eyebrow as if to ask, "Can I help you?"

You shake your head no, just the slightest. The stranger -- no longer so strange now, once their eyes have met -- offers a peculiar smile. You like the shape of their ears, you think idly. They return their attention to their lap. 

That's one less stranger in the city.