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We both stood too long in front of Van Gogh’s “Starry Night,” debating if the brushstrokes or the crowds were more overwhelming. I wanted to invite you to check out the Egyptian wing, but you disappeared with the tour group.

You graciously offered to split your last everything bagel when the shop sold out—turns out we both like scallion cream cheese. I never got your name before we were swept back into the city’s Sunday morning chaos.

You laughed as the conductor announced our train would be making “all the stops”—like we had somewhere better to be on that rainy Tuesday. Your yellow umbrella brightened the whole car. Did you notice me pretending to read, just to steal another glance?