I saw him everyday in the train, it was almost a routine of mine. The reason was maybe because he was always reading a book, oblivious to the scenery that went past him, though suburban Chennai could hardly be called as scenic. Still.

He was always reading, completely engrossed, the title of which I would sometimes manage to sneakily notice. Some books I had known of, and read, and some I'd always wanted d to read,  and some I'd never heard about before. That he had a wide range of genres intrigued me, since none of my friends were book geeks like me. Sometimes, I'd even wondered if he got down at the right stop, for he always seemed to disappear into his own world. The sheer intensity of his eyes on his determined face resembled me slightly, though I could never read on a crowded train.

"You've got to stop staring at him, you know." My friend said, turning my face towards her rather forcefully.

"I just want to talk to him, you know? And get book recommendations." I said.

"Yeah, right. Book recommendations." My friend said, rolling her eyes.

It was quite true, since I wanted to talk to him about books..also. With a final goodbye look at him, I got down at my station.  

"It's a little weird, you staring at him all the time. You are crazy." My friend said, as we walked towards our houses.

Was it really weird? I was only looking at him sometimes. Was it weird to stare at someone you liked?  If this was crazy, what would these people say about the stuff that people did in romance novels! Raja Ratan Singh had defeated an entire kingdom for a woman he'd never met before. In today's world of digital communication, the dynamics of human interaction has changed as we know it.

The next day too, the train journey passed by, as usual, with me staring at him, and him staring at his book. This lil bit of happiness enough for me, for once in my life I had stumbled across someone with a sincere passion for books just like me.

As I stood there thinking, the man next to him stood up, leaving an empty seat next to him. A few people scrambled for the seat, but my friend displayed an unusual trait of enthusiasm and bagged the seat. As I began to shoot bullets at her with my eye, she motioned towards her.

"Come and sit here." She said, in such a loud voice that even the guy looked up from his book startled (but went back to his book in a second) and I had no choice but to accept her offer.  I was a bundle of nerves normally, and sitting next to him would make me even more anxious. I was perfectly content with the world in which all I did was look at him.

I tiptoed slowly and took her seat,  half grateful and half angry-anxious  and my mind was a middle. I sat that way for almost ten minutes until the train came to a sudden halt-probably waiting for some signal; and the book he had did a few somersaults in the air and splattered onto the floor.

I immediately picked it up, and handed it to him after smoothening the wrinkled on the pages and wiping the dust off. He took it with a smile. My heart stopped.

Never had I come across a guy reading 'Gone with the wind.' How extraordinary!

He fuddled with the pages, obviously attempting to find the page he was reading. A few seconds later, a triumphant look fell on his face,  and he continued to read.

I took out a bookmark from my bag and handed it to him. "Please take it. I have many." I said.

"Thank you very much. " He said, sincerely.

"My dear, I don't give a damn." I said,  going with the flow.

"What?"

Oh! Screw my sense of humour. No one got my jokes.

"Umm.. It's a line from the book that you are presently reading." I said,  embarrassed. Like the meme with the cat wearing a spacesuit, I too wanted to disappear.

"I know. It's 'frankly'. 'Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn.'" He said.

"Its definitely 'my dear, I don't give a damn'. You can check the book if you want." I said. Immediately he turned the book to the last page. I was right.

He pulled out his phone and googled something. "A-ha! Apparently the movie version has the word 'frankly'. So I was partially right." He said joyously. It made me kind of smile a little.

"The book is the original and the definitive authority. So I win." I said.

He nodded his head to disagree. "I was watching the movie version yesterday and thought, why not read the book too? Call me sadist, but I was really glad Scarlett got what she deserved, at the end. Rhett really did love her but she kept him guessing for years."

He was more talkative than my image of him. It gave me a sense of realism. He was flesh and bone, and not a figment of my fantasy.

"I've  felt the same way too. I haven't watched the movie version though." I said.

"You should. Incredible performances." He said.

Sadly, our banter had to come to a halt, since my stop had approached and I had to go back to my monotonous world without conversations with him.

"It's my stop. See you." I said, and stepped onto the station. For the first time in my life I felt a sense of satisfaction and discontentment both at the same time.

The next day too, I saw him in his usual seat by the window. However the difference was that, that he looked at me for a brief moment and smiled. It was enough to send shockwaves through me, and I spent the rest of the day blushing.

The day after that, by a stroke of luck, the seat next to him was vacant and I mustered up the courage to sit next to him. 

 "Oh! You're reading Tamil today?" I asked him. 

"Yes. Bharathi's poems." He said,  flipping the book to show me the cover. 

"Oh!" 

"His poems are a mix of ferocity and fantasy. The way he subtly mixes both is astounding!" He beamed. But all I could think about was, the fact that he was talking to me on his own accord. 

 "I-uh – of course. He was inspired by many poets of the Romantic era." I said,  blankly. 

"My favourite lines would be 'Nirpadhuve.. ' though often quoted, the lines really do make you think, don't you think so?" He asked me.  

"Of course. It's Bharathi, after all." I said. Though I wanted to speak a lot more, at present the words were not flowing in me.  

"Can I recommend a book to you? It's not poetry, but can I?" He asked me eagerly. I nodded. Had I, unknowingly made progress?  

"Sure!" I said.  

"Then I'll bring it sometime. So what are your favourite lines?" He asked me. Unfortunately, the train had reached my stop, and a flurry of passengers made their way in. "Sorry, I really have to go, talk to you tomorrow." I said.  

He looked at me through the window, his face indecipherable, no where near the face he made while reading his books.  

'He's more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.' These were my favourite lines,  what Cathy said about Heathcliff in the The Wuthering Heights. 

Someday I would say the same thing about him, and mean it. That time he'd know.

I fell ill for a few days, and had to forgo going anywhere. From time to time,  I'd wonder, did he also miss me? What was he doing now?  

The next time I met him, his face broke into a soft grin. Surprisingly, it was one of those mysterious days when the trains were suddenly less crowded, and the seat next to him was free.  

"Where have you been?" He asked me. 

"I caught a cold." I said.  

"I hope you are better now?" He asked me. I nodded,  slightly embarrassed that an adult like me would take time off for a mere cold. He took out his bag from the back and opened it to pick up a book and handed it to me. 

"I've been wanting to give you this for a long time. Here you go." He said. Don't tell me, he had brought the book everyday to lend it to me! Norwegian Wood by Haruki Murakami.  

I took it immediately. "Thank you very much!" I began to say, but was interrupted by an elderly lady.  

"Dear, can you please lend me your seat for a few minutes?"

Knowing very well that 'few minutes' meant the rest of the journey, I shrugged and stood up. I lingered in the doorway in hopes that he would follow me too, but he didn't. He looked out of the window as if me not sitting near him anymore had no effect on him.  

If this was fantasy world or literature world, he would join me too, near the doorway, and we would have the conversations of our lives, our faces slightly cold from the air. We would walk around all day,  all night, talking about things, and be happy forever. 

But this was not the romance world from romance novels. And so, people didn't join people for conversations on the train. All my life, I had approached guys on my own, and there was no Mr Darcy professing his love for me like he did for Elizabeth from Pride and Prejudice. 

It was just the excitement of meeting another person with the same interests as him. Same goes for me. 

I cautiously avoided using the same train after that. The book he had given me deliberately avoided for days, until I could take it no more, and began reading it. 

I flipped the pages of the book absentmindedly, until I stumbled across some lines underlined. What was this about?  

'I have a million things to talk to you about. All I want in the world is you. I want to see you and talk. I want to begin everything from the beginning.' 

I saw him again. His usual seat. "I need to talk to you. Would you please get down at the next station?" I said. He nodded. 

With an excitement, I got down at the next station, waiting for him to join me, and then I saw.  

His leg braces. With a subtle difficulty, he got down from the train while I could only look astonished. 

I had always seen him seated, and I had never noticed his legs before, so I'd never known.

He looked at me, amused. "You should look at your face now." 

"Oh." 

"That day, it's not that I didn't want to join you, but I couldn't. I can't stand in a crowded train." He said.  

"I saw the lines you had underlined, somehow I felt that it was for me. Would I be wrong in assuming so?" I asked.

"No-no. It was for you. I hope it wasn't weird. What about my legs?" He asked me. 

'I have a million things to talk to you about. All I want in the world is you. I want to see you and talk. I want to begin everything from the beginning. Is that okay with you?" I asked him. 

"Yes. Me too. But, what about my legs?" He asked me.  

"Frankly,  my dear. I don't give a damn."