You've been so busy colour coding your Lit notes that you barely notice that you've stepped across the yellow line until the train blows violently into the station, surely missing you by less than a centimetre. Your momentary shock at your almost demise leaves you unbalanced and your arms windmill desperately in helpless struggle against gravity.

A hand suddenly touches your elbow steading you. You turn, to smile your thanks at the kind stranger because thank god you haven't fallen over again and feel your heart stuttering uncomfortably at the sight that greets you. Because God Almighty if this isn't the most beautiful woman you have ever had the fortune to lay eyes upon.

Warm brown eyes and hair set against skin so pale it could have been chiselled from marble by Phedias himself because oh Lord if she isn't worthy to be one of the Seven Wonders of the world with a face like that and that leather jacket and ripped jeans and how is it possible that she is touching you and holding your elbow and…

You realise you've been staring (damn it Laura, stop being so awkward) and try to break the hold this stranger has on you by smiling your thanks. She smiles back and your heart decides to perform an impromptu rendition of a musical number.

"Are you alright sweetheart?"

Your heart reaches the chorus line of the number now and speeds up suddenly in tempo, because how can a face like that be matched with an equally perfect voice? And how is it that she just called you sweetheart?

You nod mechanically, and she reluctantly (surely it is reluctantly for her hand was on your elbow for longer than necessary) removes her hand from its steadying position and begins to move towards the train carriage. You trail behind her, unable to stop staring at her in wonder.

To your relief, you see that there is an empty seat beside her on the train and you gladly take it. However, she makes no move to speak to you for the rest of the train ride, absorbed in a book. You shoot her side-long glances constantly, pretending to fiddle with your notes every time she looks up to check the station. She's reading something that by the looks of it could be in French, a faint smile curling her lips as she gazes at the pages.

Oh…she's smart too…

You curse your unwillingness to talk to her, struggling desperately to overcome your fear of insanely attractive strangers on public transport. But you can't bring yourself to interrupt that happy cocoon she seems to be encased in as she gazes down affectionately at her book. After all, someone reading a book translates to- do not talk to me.

And so for the rest of the trip you avoid looking at her, trying not to think of how close you are to her, trying not to think about how her hand felt on your elbow, trying not to think about that perfect face and that voice-

You try to make ten out of the numbers inscribed on the train carriage doors, maths has never been your strong suit and so this actually succeeds briefly in distracting you from the girl beside you as you frown in desperate concentration at the numbers. How hard can it be to make ten out of six damn numbers Laura…come on…

You've been frowning at the numbers for what must have been about ten minutes when the train lurches asthmatically into another station. You look up and realise that this is your stop. The stranger does not look up from her book as you exit the carriage and disappointment floods you as you realise that in all likelihood, you will never see her again.

Oh Laura…If this isn't the twentieth time this week that you've fallen for a stranger on public transport…

You try and cast her out of your mind, you have Lit notes to colour code after all. It is as you look down at your folder that you notice it. A sticky note, plastered onto the front of your notes.

Elegant handwriting flows across the brilliant yellow and as you come out of your stupor you realise that you are holding a phone number and a name:

Carmilla. Call me cutie.