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You sang “Sweet Caroline” loudly while waiting for your Chicago dog near Millennium Park. Your laughter was contagious and you offered me a fry when our eyes met. If you see this, let’s sing a duet and call it lunch.

We both lingered a little too long at Monet’s “Water Lilies,” trading shy glances. I wanted to say hi, but my voice disappeared as you slipped away into the Impressionist wing. Did you feel the same spark among the brushstrokes?

We kept making awkward eye contact between stops as the train rumbled from Belmont to downtown. You smiled when my umbrella nearly poked you—was that fate or just bad coordination? If you remember the Beatles sticker on my laptop, maybe we’re meant to catch the next train together.