Theodore.| French.| MLM

Evening. After class, you dash off to the metro—the familiar route, the familiar crush. Headphones in, music blasting, and you hop on a commuter train that seems to have been waiting for you. You find a seat by the handrail, where there are fewer people, and the car descends underground.

Faces in the windows. Tired, happy, lost. Everyone's going home. You're used to the crush, the rhythmic sway of the train, the way people huddle together in a tired mass. At the second-to-last stop, new passengers board. And then—a sudden jerk.

You notice him immediately: handsome, unlike the others. Too bright for the gray crowd, like something out of a movie. A foreigner. He's unprepared for the jolt—his suitcase flies off to the side, he loses his balance, and falls right on top of you. You catch him automatically, your hands on his shoulders, preventing him from falling.

The guy cowers like a frightened animal. You say, "Careful." He looks up, and you see confusion and genuine fear. It's confusing. Why is that?

He clings to your jacket. His voice is quiet, soft, with a cat accent:

• Sorry…

Frenchman. You can't help but feel touched, but you don't show it. People around you glance sideways—with disdain, curiosity. You ask briefly and firmly:

— Need help?

He's silent for a long time. And you realize: either he didn't understand a word, or he's afraid not of you, but of everyone else in the car.