I was on the subway after a long day, slumped in my seat and scrolling mindlessly on my phone. The train car was nearly empty except for a guy sitting diagonally across from me, a sketchpad in his lap. He was handsome, with messy hair and paint-stained fingers that hinted at his artistic side.

I caught him glancing up at me every so often, but I didn’t think much of it until I noticed his hand moving furiously across the page. Was he... drawing me?

Curiosity got the better of me. “Are you drawing me?” I asked, breaking the silence.

He froze, looking sheepish. “Uh, maybe. Sorry, you just have this... vibe.”

I raised an eyebrow. “A vibe?”

“Yeah,” he said, holding up the sketch. It was rough but beautiful—a side profile of me staring at my phone. “See?”

I couldn’t help but smile. “Not bad.”

He grinned, leaning closer. “Let me make it up to you. Next stop, coffee on me?”

Against my better judgment, I nodded. We got off at the next station and found a tiny, hole-in-the-wall café. Over steaming cups of coffee, we talked about everything—art, travel, our weirdest subway encounters.

By the time we finished, the trains had stopped running, and we ended up walking through the quiet city streets. He walked me all the way home, stopping just outside my building.

“Thanks for not calling me a creep back there,” he joked.

“You’re lucky you’re good at what you do,” I teased, holding up the sketch he’d given me.

Before I could turn to go, he leaned in and kissed me, soft and lingering and did it. “Goodnight, muse,” he whispered, leaving me completely flustered and wondering if I’d see him again.