We locked eyes when I looked up, driven by an unaccountable urge. She smiled at me and I returned it before going back to making notes. The bus jolted, wrenching my pen from my hands, and casting at her feet. She returned it with a shy smile that I again reciprocated. She must have felt emboldened, because she asked me what I was writing.
“It’s an outline for a novel,” I replied.
“That’s so cool!” she exclaimed. “What’s it about?
I related the plot with some trepidation, assuming she would find it uninteresting. Her interest was evident in her eyes.