By Chris Hannas

Maria boarded the second car on the train just like she always did, finding an empty seat on the left side of the back half, just like she always did. There was no reason for her routine. She did it once, then again the next day, and then, well, that was how she rode the subway on her 25-minute commute from the first semblance of suburbs to the concrete box she worked in downtown.

Other passengers read the newspaper or a book, but Maria could do neither without feeling sick. She thanked her mom for passing down that trait. On this day, a Tuesday, a thirty-something man across the aisle inspired great envy in Maria with his gleaming new iPhone and chic red Beats headphones. In her purse was the four-year-old Motorola flip phone she got as a college sophomore and could not yet afford to replace as a new-ish member of the workforce in one of the country’s most expensive cities. Her roommate, Catherine, a Kansas-born fellow twenty-two-year-old, didn’t understand why Maria wouldn’t just ask her parents to buy her a new phone. Maria resisted the urge to query back why, if it’s such an easy thing to do, doesn’t Catherine ask her parents to pay all of the girls’ monthly rent?

The train quickly filled up as it hurtled through tunnels and under a river toward the city center. Five minutes into the ride, a young man she guessed to be about twenty-five sat down next to her with a Washington Post crossword puzzle in his right hand and a black ballpoint pen in his left.

“Confident,” she said with a particularly un-Maria-like level of assertiveness. She normally tried to avoid conversation during her commute ever since a creepy guy asked on her way home if she’d like to “grab a drink, and like, ya know, do some stuff.”

“I’m sorry?” the crossword guy asked.

“Oh, it’s just, you’re using a pen so you can’t erase if what you put down is wrong.”

He let loose a wry smile and scrawled N-O-R-M-A-N-D-Y in one across. “Well, maybe I don’t intend to make any mistakes,” he said.

Maria half rolled her eyes as her lips curled back, revealing her perfectly straight, brilliantly white teeth.

“You’re telling me you’re going to fill in every last little box, and in tomorrow’s edition this little answer section down here will match one hundred percent?”

“That is exactly what I’m saying,” he replied. His pen flew through five across: S-H-E-R-P-A. “I do these every day.”

Maria put on a skeptical look and tried to act like she didn’t find him and this game attractive. He had a face that screamed “nice guy.” That was the best way she could describe it to Catherine later.

“You don’t believe me?” he asked.

“I do not.”

“Well, you should.”

“And why is that? Do you have your triple degrees from Yale, Harvard, and Oxford in your little bag there?”

He laughed at the way she waved her fingers at the messenger bag he was using as a desk.

“I do not,” he said. “And not that it matters, but I actually went to Georgetown.”

“Oh really? Hmm…”

Maria reached into her purse, digging around the ancient phone, her wallet, and various lipstick tubes until she found her own pen and held it up for him to see.

“Georgetown Class of 2014,” he read out loud. “Hoya Saxa, m’lady.”

“Don’t call me m’lady, er, y’lady, whatever.”

“What should I call you then? I’m Eric.”

“Nice to meet you, Eric. You may call me Maria.”

“Because that’s your name, or the one you give to randos on the Metro?”

“Oh, is that answer not in your puzzle?”

“Nope, not today.”

She raised her eyebrows, pursed her lips, and looked away.

“Hm. Well, I guess you’ll just have to wait and find out.”

“Maybe I can take you out for coffee tomorrow and whatever the barista writes on your cup is what I’ll call you.”

“That seems acceptable. Let me give you my phone number–”

“Perfect.”

He pulled out his phone as a satisfied smile spread across his face. She held up a finger to halt him.

“I wasn’t done. You will finish this puzzle and send me a picture. Tomorrow I will check your answers, and if they are one hundred percent correct, I will text you back so we can meet up at the Dunkin Donuts two stops from here.”

“Now can I say perfect?”

“Only if you tell me why you’re still so confident.”

The same smile returned as he circled the clue for forty-eight across.

“Because you’re the only girl I’ve ever met with a manatee pendant hanging from her neck.”

Maria’s hand rose to grab the charm—a birthday gift from her mom the year before—rolling it between her fingers as her eyes traced across the words.

“Endangered Everglades slow swimmer.”

She clicked her pen, reached over, and filled in the answer, then shifted to a blank space below the puzzle to add her number. The train conductor announced the name of her stop as the train emerged from the dark tunnel into the station.

“Well, this is me,” she said as she tucked the pen back in her purse and stood up. “No pressure or anything, but I’m a pretty big fan of free coffee.”

Eric stepped aside to let her into the aisle.

“I will give my very best effort to make that happen.”

She smiled again.

“Good luck.”