She watched him attentively.
     Her bright hazel eyes followed every step, every single movement of his with the utmost curiosity. Not even one inch of his body could escape from her intensive glance; be it his secret smile, the dulcet, tiny dimple at the right corner of his mouth or a short, thoughtful frown. And in her wondering look was a certain admiration. This, she sensed, was the beginning of something unknown; tempting and yet so dangerous. However, at that moment she ignored the fact that quite soon it would take control over her body, her soul and her restless mind. He would. Unconciously but exceedingly efficient. It was only a matter of time.
     Suddenly, he turned his head. Her crushed concrete heart began to beat like hell. Then, he looked in her direction with his wide grey eyes…
     Eyes which reminded her of a stormy sea. He looked in her direction and saw straight through her. Her chest fiercely hurt for a short moment. As he averted his face, however, the pain seemed to have disappeared again. Just as it had never been there…
     Although the hallway was full of dallying students, busy employees, scuffing grannies, sedate mothers with their greedy children, clerks with newspapers under their arms, commiserable beggars imploring for money instead of a bread-crust… She could see nothing – absolutely nothing – but the youth with the blonde curls.
There he was. Standing out like a sore thumb, waiting for something in a crowd of soulless human beings whose minds were stewing in their materialistic existences, whose bodies were rushing around like ghosts as if these worlds were going down.
     She was mesmerized. Plain fascinated by his seraphic demeanour. She was glued to the spot, staring at him like a small child who was crying silently for help. Nevertheless, he did not deign a look at her. As always. She knew it too well. This was nothing new to her.
     Woefully she sighed and looked pathetically down. After an everlasting while, she looked up again and found her own pitiful self sobbing in the half-deserted hallway of the train station, clinging to her anthology of English prose. She looked out for him. It could not be. He was gone. Just as he had never been there. But the wicked world was still there. And the wicked world kept on turning. Nothing had really happened. Nothing was different. And yet, it was the beginning of the dim and dragging degradation of her own carefree existence.