She was just a girl on the train. He saw her every Thursday. Same carriage, same headphones, same bored expression. Once, she dropped her bag. He picked it up for her. She said "thanks" without making eye contact.
That was the highlight of his month.
He thought about talking to her. Then he remembered what he looked like. What he sounded like. What he was. He went back to staring out the window, watching buildings pass like ghosts. The train kept moving, even when he didn't.