Disclaimer: Stephanie Meyer owns Twilight and all its characters. I am just playing around with them.

Every Monday and Thursday night, around 6:30 pm, I take the Red Line across the Charles River, from Boston to Cambridge.

Every Monday and Thursday night, I head to Central Square for classes at The Dance Complex, a collection of dance studios in an old brick building with expansive wooden floors that have seen better days.

Every Monday I take a hip-hop class, and every Thursday I take a belly dance class. I look forward to dancing my ass off with complete abandon each week, because it just makes me feel good, and it's a healthy way for me to reduce my stress. My program at Northeastern is 5 years long with internships staggered between school semesters and it's tough. In the 2 years I've been in Boston, I've picked up and quit smoking, and realized I have a bad habit of emotional eating.

So here I am, trying to find enjoyment in exercise to counteract the stress and eating habits I've struggled with at school.

Every Monday and Thursday night, I make the quick 30 minute trek into Cambridge with my face clean and my brown hair pulled up into a ponytail, dressed for dancing in a tank top with a baggy shirt on top, tight yoga pants, and some sneakers. And almost every Monday and Thursday night since I've started dancing, I've seen him on the train.

He is tall, with broad shoulders and a thin frame making him look slightly lanky. He has pale skin and disheveled auburn hair and I once met his eyes, which are brilliantly green, like the grass in the Boston Garden at the end of the summer, after a nice rain. Sometimes he wears thick hipster frames, and sometimes he doesn't. Sometimes he has a guitar and sometimes he doesn't.

The first time I saw him, rush hour was ending and I was lucky enough to grab a seat when someone was getting off. I plopped down, exhausted from class and the effort it took to make the red line connection, and I banged my knee on his guitar case in the process. I glanced up to apologize and I saw him. I don't think he even noticed me, or felt the bump.

On busy trains sometimes there's no telling who or what is touching you and it's easier to tune it all out...

I looked away quickly, already hot and getting flustered, and pulled out my book to focus on.

I could feel eyes on me but I doggedly read the same line over and over again until I had relaxed enough to let the anxiety go.

Once I exited onto the platform, I peeked behind me to see he was getting off as well. Embarrassed and sure I'd been caught looking, I almost raced up the stairs to the street.

All during dance that evening, I tried to concentrate on my steps, but I couldn't. I couldn't shake the feeling that I just missed out on something really important.

I wanted to see him again.

I got lucky.

I've been dancing for two months now, and I'm beginning to wonder how I ever lived without it… and the commute. It's the best thing I could have done for myself mentally and physically, even if I do obsess about a perfect stranger.

Alice, a BU student I met in my belly dance class, has been encouraging me to talk to him.

It'd been especially busy that Thursday, 3 sessions into the program, when I rushed into class to find Alice looking at me like the cat that got the canary. "Well?" she asked, grinning at me like she could read my mind as I plopped my bag down and stripped out of my t-shirt.

"Well nothing." I huffed, frustrated. "I stood next to him. I ended up getting shoved to his corner and then held the same pole. There was some beast gripping the pole above my head and I was stretched thin at an awkward angle, and all I could smell was B.O. It wasn't romantic, and again, I don't think he saw me." I was mentally kicking myself. I can get over the occasional bout of random passenger B.O. exposure, but even then, yes, conditions weren't perfect, but I kept letting opportunities to talk to him slip through my fingers.

Alice tied her dark hair back in a low ponytail, looking at me shrewdly. "Ok. The B.O. thing sucks. It really does, but if you're ever going to talk to him, you need to girl up and stop waiting for fate to push you two together. " Opening my mouth to respond, Alice continued, "I know you're interested so stop being scared of him and standing back at the maximum distance. Share his pole another time, on less crowded days, or make a point to sit closer to him. Even, maybe, just walk up and talk to him."

She looked at me, her eyes blazing, "or before you know it, he's going to get off this schedule of his and you'll never see him again, and you'll be writing a missed connections Craigslist ad at 4 in the morning after a bottle of red wine, hoping to God that he'll read it because secretly he feels the very same way."

That would be me. With this guy, I just knew it might come to that, if I didn't grow a backbone and say something.

Alice knew she'd made her point. I didn't know how to respond so I just sat there, watching our instructor queue up the music for our session, while Alice stretched her legs.

Two Thursdays later, I rushed in to class convinced I'd blown it.

"Alice! Alice, " I took a deep breath, " I talked to him."

She grabbed my hands and pulled me down to sitting. "Tell. Me. Everything." she requested.

Wringing my hands, I filled her in. "Well… he was sitting and there was a vacant seat next to him. I sat down without any idea what to do, and noticed sheet music on his lap. It was Debussy. Clair de lune. I couldn't NOT comment. It's one of my favorites that my mother used to play for me." Alice was riveted. "So I just kind of pointed to it and said 'Clair de lune is great.'"

Alice waited "and…" when it was clear I wasn't going to say anything else.

I was miserable. "That's it. He just looked at me. Strangely. There was no conversation at all. "

I'd blown it.

Alice pulled me into her arms, smoothing my hair back from my face. "Oh honey… I'm sure it wasn't that bad."

And that was pretty much the end of it. That was 2 weeks ago.

I've been taking the train every Monday and Thursday night for two months, and for two months, I've been dreaming about a handsome stranger with auburn hair and pale skin, who sometimes wears glasses and sometimes carries a guitar, and who possibly plays the piano… and we've never exchanged words, until tonight.

A/N: Hi everyone out there. I have a pretty decent outline for this fic but I think it will be pretty short. We'll see. I do not have a posting schedule in mind yet, but I'm hoping for once a week. I do not have a beta so all mistakes are mine. xox

Edited 2013-09-02 - Thanks for your feedback and some pointers from the wonderful SunflowerFran! I've tried to break this chapter out into readable chunks, but I'm not sure if a natural break for me equates to a natural break for you. At some points I felt like I was putting a line break between every sentence, so I've gone on feeling. I'm new at this. Thanks for taking the time to read and review. Your reviews are so encouraging! I plan to update chapter 2 in the same manner provided this one works out xox - ss