Fatal Attraction: Love Or Lust

Wow on the cta train downtown kept shoving cold air into my face every time somebody walked in, like the building couldn’t decide whether it wanted me awake or tired. I stood by the train door with my lunch bag still half-closed, listening to the hum of people on the train and low clack of shoes on tile. My phone buzzed with another work reminder, but my eyes weren’t on the screen. They were on the coffee cup in my hand. She had one of those calm faces that made you forget you were supposed to be focused. Her hair was pinned back.I watched her hands more than anything - steady, quick, like she already knew where everything was without looking. She reached for her phone and started smiling.

It wasn’t a dramatic stare. It was worse than that. It was casual. Like I was just another person in a crowded train and she wasn’t doing anything special - except my body treated it like it was.

My mouth went dry. I swallowed hard, tried to drag my focus back to the lunch bag in my hand I looked away first, like a coward. I pretended to read the posted schedule taped to notebook even though I’d memorized it last month. My supervisor’s voice floated in my memory - stay professional, keep your head right, don’t get caught staring. I was trying. I really was. But the moment she stepped out of the breakroom, I felt it - this tug under my ribs, like my attention had been grabbed by a hook and thrown right back at her.

“Kay?” a coworker called, leaning into the doorway of the train with a stack of forms. “You got time to sign these before walk the train?

I nodded too fast. “Yeah. Give me one.”

He handed me the papers and kept talking, something about a train temp issue and a door sensor acting up. I barely heard him. I forced my pen to move. The ink smeared once because my hand wasn’t as steady as I wanted it to be, and I hated that - hated that my body was betraying me over a woman I’d literally just noticed.

When I finally looked up again, Love was walking through the cart of train, not in a hurry but not slow either. Her badge swung on her lanyard, catching the overhead lights. She passed a cluster of people and said something - quick smile, warm tone. Then she turned a corner and disappeared like she’d never been in my orbit at all.

I told myself it was nothing. Just a look. Just a first time noticing.

But the rest of the day proved how wrong that was.

The train had rules you learned without being told. Don’t block the aisles . Don’t hover near someone’s seat like you’re waiting for a show. Don’t let your eyes linger too long, especially when everybody’s watching everybody.

I did the same tasks I always did: checking logs, walking the carts, making sure the customers not causing trouble . My job put me in motion, which should’ve helped - moving meant I could keep my mind busy. But every time I heard her voice, even faintly, my head tilted like my body was trained to respond.

Around midmorning, I caught her again near Cumberland. She was talking to someone from another station , and I could tell she wasn’t the type to dominate a conversation. She listened, then answered with a little tilt of her chin, like she was choosing her words carefully. The other person handed her a folder. She took it, nodded, and then - this part made my stomach tighten - she looked down at the folder and said, “Thank you,” like she meant it.

When she noticed me standing there, waiting for my turn, her face softened. Not flirty. Just human.

“Hey,” she said.

I forced my voice to come out steady. “Hey.”

“You work around this area?”

“Yeah,” I said, and I hated how simple it sounded. Like I didn’t even want to admit the truth that she was the only reason I’d been in that hallway.

Her eyes stayed on mine for a second longer than polite. “I’m trying to get this set up for a meeting.” My body was trying to be helpful, like if I did the right thing, I could erase the weirdness .Her eyebrows lifted. “So you’re the guy who knows everything.”

I almost laughed, but it would’ve sounded nervous. “Nah.”

She tilted her head, watching me like she was reading the space between my words. Then she said, “What’s your name?” But my tongue tripped anyway, and the truth came out like it was already decided. “Kay.”

She repeated it softly. “Kay.”

It sounded good in her mouth. Too good.

Then she started to walk away, and I realized I hadn’t asked hers yet. I could’ve left it there, let it stay distant. Let her be the woman I noticed without learning her name. That would’ve been the smart move.

Instead, I heard myself say, “Wait - what’s your name?”

She turned back. Her posture stayed relaxed, but her eyes sharpened just a little, like she was deciding how to handle this. “Love,” she said.

My brain stuttered. Not because it was hard - because it felt impossible. Like a name that belonged to romance and not breakrooms.

“Love,” I repeated, slower this time, tasting it like I needed to confirm it was real.

Her mouth curved. “Yeah.”

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