Subway

The lady sat, engrossed in something on her smartphone, the display light reflected in the lenses of the black framed glasses. She was so absorbed in her reading that the usual background noise of the subway seemed to roll off her. A face that Leonardo could not have carved more beautifully into marble. A well-formed nose, perfectly proportioned lips and noble cheekbones, and jet-black hair pulled back in a bun over a high forehead, was by all standards an extremely beautiful face. The well-groomed hands, dainty and with discreetly manicured nails, also matched the overall appearance. Her beauty shone from within, despite the wrinkles and signs of ageing that spread like a semi-transparent layer over the original smoothness and tautness. For a moment, 40, 50 years disappeared and the old, worn-out seemed invisible, like a switched-off Photoshop layer. Her youth shone through. I wish she would take her eyes off the screen and look at me, just for a moment. What horizons they have seen will remain hidden from me forever, I realize in a wistful thought. The train rattles through the tunnel and slows down to the next stop. We both get up to leave. My thoughts about this unknown vis-à-vis are already lost after the first steps on the escalator, as I climb past the standing people in quick steps.