I saw you on the Union Square platform. You were beautiful in a floral skirt and carried a green tote bag from Daunt.

We both boarded the same Q train car. There were a few seats available, but neither of us sat. We stood, orthogonal to each other. I wanted to say something to you, but I didn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable. So I stayed silent.

But I felt a perceptible tension. I put my phone away. You put yours away soon after. We both observed our surroundings and, in our periphery, each other. But we stayed silent, our faces a mix of amusement and blank stares.

While crossing the bridge, a somewhat large man in a red shirt suddenly grabbed the railing in front of me. He broke this strange vertex of silence. The moment had passed. I’d lost my chance.

But as the train progressed from bridge into the tunnel, he moved. And after a split second of deliberation, I stepped forward and asked you where your tote bag was from.

You seemed to respond enthusiastically. “Oh, it’s from this book store called Daunt in London.” You smiled as you said it. So we spoke about totes. I mentioned that I have one from Whittard that’s the perfect size to carry lunch. You claimed that British things are of exceptional quality.

But when it was my turn to add to the conversation, I just agreed. I couldn’t think of what to say. So I broke eye contact, and the moment suddenly evaporated.

The train reached DeKalb. My stop. But I didn’t get off. I had to save this conversation. But, other people packed the train, and a familiar tension emerged.

Soon enough, we reached the next stop. I knew I couldn’t go any farther. So I turned around to face the doors, and glanced your way to say some version of bye, but then realized that you were getting off too.

“Oh, you’re getting off here?” I mumbled.

“Yeah.” With a smile.

But the station is narrow. You must choose to immediately go left or right. We decided simultaneously. You went left. I went right. And I’ll likely never see you again.

It’s in moments like these that I see a thousand worlds of what might’ve been. And then I see none.