Waiting for the 14

Woosh woosh went the metro doors, and I stood there waiting, he wasn't there yet. I went back to my bench, turned open my book, and looked up at the screen impatiently. One minute 45 seconds until the next one. I turned the pages steadily. Woosh Woosh, once again, and the noise of people evacuating somberly, excitedly, engrossed in their iphones, talking with friends, or stumbling with obvious swagger of 1664.

Still not there, and three more minutes until the next train. Woosh Woosh, again, and I looked up to see the people shuffling off the train while the others pressed back slightly, anxious to get on. A young Arab girl came hurtling down the steps, throwing herself onto the train, just as the alarms went, and the doors closed.

Four minutes to the next one, I noticed and sighed, looking at my watch. This was of course the pain that I would pay for always being early, I was always the one left waiting. My book opened again and I fell back into the story.

I could smell his cologne before I saw him. I looked up and saw him standing, facing away from me, looking around searching. Woosh woosh went the metro doors, and suddenly afraid, I stepped on the train and left, before he caught sight of me.