My shirt was a Rorschach of sweat when I entered the Skytrain. The only handles available were of head height so I had no choice but to submit the rest of the passengers to whatever smells emanated from my arm pit. Our eyes met and I smiled. You smiled back. It was hard not to return to your gaze and only did so again once before departing.
The next day I returned to the Skytrain at an arbitrary time and station, found a seat, sat down and looked up to see you doing the same. I smiled. You got off at the next stop.