A subway buzzes along its tracks in a dull fashion, a slight whirring being the only noise it makes as it whooshes through the stone tunnels underneath the lively city. Nighttime crawls into Daytime’s place, settling and nestling until it’s comfortable among the swath of stars, resembling a bedroom ceiling of a child’s.

The passengers, though very few, make it seem as though it is completely empty, their faces stoic and their eyes almost lifeless. They litter the car of the train arbitrarily.
On one side, a reserved girl, young in age but old enough to be on there by herself, watches out the window, even though the stone bricks prove to be bad entertainment.
She’s been told she’s attractive by countless people. Her hair is a summery blonde, freckles blot her nose and slightly her cheeks, and her smile could put the blinding snow of the arctic to shame. Yet, every time, she denies it.
Either she truly doesn’t think so, or she just doesn’t want people to think of her only in that way, no one knows, not even fully herself. It’s a quirky thought. She tries not to think about it too much.
On the opposite side of the car, is an artful boy, holding a book in front of him, yet his mind is staring elsewhere than the inked pages, doubting if anyone asked him what he was reading he would remember the title. His eyes have caught up with his brain and they both had noticed something far more interesting across the way.
But before that, it’s only fair to describe the boy in detail as well, so as not to be in the slightest, sexist.
His hair is a delicious chocolate shade, his eyes an endearing and sharp-edged blue, and his build hinting that he’s a veteran athlete. He’s been told he’s attractive by countless people. Yet, every time, he denies it.
He knows exactly that he just doesn’t want to be seen as a “pretty boy”, but is afraid that people won’t think what else he has to offer can compare. It’s a strange thought. He tries not to think about it too much.
His eyes have found and settled upon a girl on the opposite side of the subway car, curiously staring out into the stone walls. He wonders what could be going on through her mind, when her head turns imperceptibly, and she senses his gaze.
He doesn’t notice this, of course. The girl, having felt like she was being watched, decided to nonchalantly and as unsuspiciously as possible, turn her head to catch whoever it was in her peripheral vision. A boy, admiring her.
She’s not too surprised. As said before, people have complimented her specifically for being pleasing to the eye. Yet his gaze settles on her not uncomfortably, but as a warm blanket, and she welcomes it. Almost as if it’s natural. Another quirky thought. She doesn’t think about it too much.
And, without thinking too much about it, she swivels to return his look.
In an instant sparks shoot not from the subway tracks but from across the car, and the other passengers shift somewhat, as if they feel a disturbance in the air.
The intense set of blue and the crisp set of brown meet in the middle, and for a moment both bodies stiffen.
The girl sees in his eyes something she’s never seen before from the people she’s met and the people who have said nice things to her. She sees truth. She believes. If this boy told her she was beautiful, she would accept it without a doubt.
This boy can tell from her eyes that she could list off a thousand things about him that make him unique, none of them having to do with how he looked. If she said he was deeper than his skin, than he would greet that with open arms.

Our first contact we made with each other was not with our hands, or our lips, but with our eyes.
And with our eyes we saw in each other what we craved to see in ourselves. You were my mirror that awoke me to the possibilities, the things that made me realize who I had been looking to be this whole time. Others may not understand what this meant for us, but I know for me, you gave me what I needed most: The honest truth.