Same train, same carriage, same seat, and one morning a scent that made me look up from my phone. I spent weeks working up to asking what it was. Then they stopped getting on.
Back when I commuted every day, I had a routine. Same train, same carriage, same seat.
Then one morning there was a smell. Not coffee, not wet coats. Something that made me look up from my phone.
Some days it was there and some days it wasn't. I started keeping track, which is not a normal thing to do before nine.
So I moved. A few seats along, then across the aisle, then the far end, like musical chairs with no music. Someone else got my seat. I didn't mind.
Eventually I found them. They always got on at the same station.
Here's the problem. Everyone knows you don't talk on the Underground. It's the one rule we all keep.
So I rehearsed it on the platform and lost my nerve by the next stop. More than once.
Then came the morning I'd properly decided. Today was the day.
They didn't get on. Not that day, not the next, not ever.
I still pass that station. Every time, I look at the doors and wonder what they were wearing.
Mostly I wonder why I didn't just ask.
If a scent stops you, say something. They might not be there tomorrow.