He shuffles his way onto the train. Moving through the thick density of commuters crowded at one of the train doorways, he eyes an empty seat, cradled away in a corner. He has to make his way past all the people sitting around it, but it will be well worth it.
Perfect.
He squeezes through. Pushing, worming his way past the crowds; it makes him feel weird. All the more uncomfortable. Every touch, every nudge, every accidental brush-up, brings goosebumps to the back of his neck. Through the aching misery of it all, he manages to get to the seat. At last, solitude.
Shuffling into position, he at once hangs his head. Sitting there, slouched into the seat, wedged against the wall, his head is completely hung. Shunning himself from the people. Getting away from the daily grind. Removing himself from all forms of existence. He sits there, head hanging low, eyes on his lap. If his head was any more hung, he would be looking at himself.
She sits across from him.
She's perplexed. She glances over at him every so often, hoping to catch a glimpse of his eyes. What will they tell her? Will they speak of a troubled soul? Someone shying away, due to loneliness, fear of rejection..... what?
He continues. Head hung, stance mainly unmoving. Occasionally he quickly glances out the window, checking to see where the train is at. He shuffles around slightly. Moves uncomfortably in his seat. Adjusting himself without reason to. And the head remains. Hung.
She stares at him now. Longer. Willing him to look up at her. Willing him to meet her eyes, to meet her expression of confusion, sadness, empathy. She stares at his stocky frame, wondering how a man of this size could feel so uncomfortable and unsure in such a strong physique. His olive-brown skin, so smooth, so silky, his dark black hair, wavy and tousled.... where has his insecurity come from? What has shattered him so much, that he cannot keep his eyes level?
Her hand twitches. What does she want to do? Comfort him? Tell him it's okay? The maternal instincts are clear in the young girls' eyes. She wishes to help. To take the pain away. To offer an ear to listen, a shoulder to lean on, a hand to reach out to.
She continues her watch, as he continues his downward stare. What will become of him? What will be when he walks out the door? So many questions to ponder, as the train continues on its journey.
His destination has arrived. He makes a furtive upward glance, before slowly getting up and making the slow, painful squeeze through the commuters again, out the train doors.
He walks out. Never to be seen by her again.
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