He hunched over his notebook, leaving his profile visible to the observer — in this case, me.

A forest of thick, dark hair rested in organized chaos just above his eyes, no doubt previously covered by the ivy cap sitting next to his paper. His weary features faced the surface of the table, shutting out the crowd around him. Wrapped tightly around a set of broad shoulders was a wool coat, leading down to a work-tanned hand. He pulled a fountain pen across the sheet, quickly forming sentences from what I could only assume was a great mind.

Suddenly he lifted charmingly dark eyes and looked directly at me. I didn’t know how long I had been staring; all I knew was that it had been entirely too long. He blushed crimson and immediately turned his head back to his writing.