Most sane people have a natural disdain and dread for Mondays. Not him. While others eagerly anticipated the weekend release from the mundane work week, he preferred Monday—more specifically, Monday mornings. On Monday mornings, he got to see her. Every Monday, he made his way to the underground to catch the 7:20 on the Piccadilly line. He was completely oblivious to the hoard of commuters elbowing him on their way to their respective departure points, because his mind was preoccupied with seeing her face.

He still didn't know who "her" was exactly. Even though they had managed to ride in the same car every Monday for two months, they still hadn't actually spoken to each other. The first time saw her, he had just barely made it into the car as they announced "Mind the Gap." Noticing that one of the corners of his coat was caught inbetween the doors, he began tugging on it. He became increasingly aggravated when it wouldn't budge, and gave one more fierce yank. Though he managed to reclaim his coat, his actions caused him to stumble into a petite elderly Asian woman, who then proceeded to spout what he supposed were a string of profanities, based on the angry look she was directing at him. After the woman had finished her fiery tirade, he heard a melodic giggle. He honed in on its source—a young blonde woman holding a well-worn book and sitting at an angle to his left. They made eye contact. Realizing she had been caught, she quickly placed the book in front of her mouth and tried to contain herself, yet was rather unsuccessful. He felt a wide grin make its way across his face and began to faintly chuckle himself, partly due to embarrassment and partly because he found her laugh positively infectious.

He debated on making his way over to her, but the car was quite crowded and there was no way he could make an elegant or easy path to her. He hoped that maybe at the next stop he would be able to make his way through. His hopes were disappointed, however, because at the next stop, Leicester Square, she stood and promptly exited. He never expected to see her again. The fact that he didn't see her the rest of the week gave credence to that belief. To his surprise though, the following Monday morning, there she was again—only further down and this time holding onto an aisle pole, her nose buried in the same book. The tube faintly rocked back and forth, causing the commuters to sway ever so slightly and block his obvious attempts to make eye contact with her. Somehow she sensed him and she looked up, catching him bobbing his head around to see her. Her cheeks turned crimson, and she flashed a bright smile with just the slightest bit of pink between her teeth before bashfully turning her attention back to her book. He felt his own face begin to flush, and found himself desperately wanting to meet this woman who made him feel like some giddy teenage boy. This time the path to her was slightly clearer. He apparently had been too distracted staring longingly at her to realize they were once again at Leicester Square. His gaze followed her as she made her way to the doors, his disappointment growing the further away she moved. To his surprise but utter delight, she looked back and smiled brilliantly at him before finally exiting.

Next Monday couldn't come soon enough for him; however, his wait had been for naught. She wasn't there. He chided himself for lacking the courage to approach her when he had the chance. That was probably the last time he would ever see her—no one could be that lucky. He finished the rest of the week moping.

Not moping. I'm a grown man. Grown men don't mope.

Come next Monday, he caught his usual tube and upon entering the car, his eyes widened and mouth hung slightly agape. She was there! Right there in front of him! He could kiss Fate for her kindness. The blonde who had been occupying his thoughts almost daily, was sitting there reading the exact same book as before. He heard an usual noise that sounded like a mix between a gasp and a choke. When her eyes flickered upward to meet his, he realized that he had been the source of the odd noise. She realized it too, and he was once again met with that winning smile she gave him that first Monday. Ok, that decided it—he was going over to her. Yes, he was just going to walk up to her and be witty and charming and this would be a glorious Monday. That's right…just…wait...why weren't his feet moving? He was definitely telling them to move, but apparently they weren't getting the message. She was looking at him, and—was that anticipation in her eyes? No, surely not. His feet finally started to work, but as luck would have it, a young and heavily pregnant woman walked by the beautiful stranger. On seeing the young mother-to-be, the blonde smiled and gave up her seat for her, slowly making her way to a free space. His hopes dashed, he decided he hated Fate.

Over the next few Mondays, they continued to spot each other, but were still unable to meet. He would be on one end, she on the other. He would go to move, another passenger would step into his path. He couldn't help but keep turning his gaze towards her during their short commute together, eager to see that smile or see her bite on her lower lip as she read. Occasionally, he would catch her eyes on him, and their twinkling would cause a fluttering that he was quickly becoming quite fond of now. He was becoming frustrated with this seemingly unwinnable chase, and was beginning to come to terms with the fact he would have to be content with just seeing her—all pink and yellow and…perfect.

But this Monday was different. Today she was sitting almost in the exact same seat as that first day. A few glances and smiles were exchanged between them, but nothing further. The announcement for Leicester Square was given overhead, and she stood up expectantly, placing her book in the top of her bag. As she moved towards the doors, the book dislodged and fell to the floor. Unaware, she kept moving. Without a second thought, he rushed forward, swiftly picked up the book and hurried out the doors. He looked around frantically for her, not readily seeing her. Suddenly, he caught sight of her heading towards the stairs, and he rushed up to her, placing his hand gently on her shoulder. At his touch, she turned around. She smiled at him and her eyes widened, surprised and questioning.

"Uh...y-you dropped this," he said, holding the book out to her and smiling broadly.

"Oh!" she said as she took it from his hands. "I woulda gone completely mental lookin' for this. S'my favorite. Thank you...?" she trailed off, looking up at him expectantly.

It took a moment before he realized she was waiting for his name.

"John…John Smith."

She smiled. "Rose Tyler," she said, holding her hand out. His smile widened even more, becoming slightly silly as he shook her hand.

"Well, I'm gonna get somethin' to eat," Rose said, pointing to the exit. She turned her body slightly to go, but then turned around. "Aren't ya comin'?" she asked, raising an eyebrow and holding her hand out for him.

As he took her hand, he came to irrefutable conclusion—Mondays were definitely the best day of the week.