He was so focused on her that he didn't realise how much he was staring. Perhaps it was the way she'd walked- the slight sway, the violet skirt unfurling and curling again in motion, its edges ending a little too far from the glitter of her Chinese slippers, the fall of her dyed brown hair swinging in rhythm.

He followed her, got onto the same carriage and sat across from her. Gaping, making mild pretenses looking down at his book.

The inhabitants of the metro were quiet; it was the middle of the week and the stifling heat slowed everyone down to a state of zombied wakefulness, seeking answers between the lines of the sweet smudged print of the morning tabloid.