Standing at the platform, a small sports bag warming my bare feet, there’s a train ticket in my left hand, a bloodied stiletto heel in my right and something missing inside. The midnight Starcross station is empty but for two teenagers kissing wetly by the overpriced vending machines; each smack of their lips drives the wedge a little deeper into the void.

The train slides steadily into Starcross and the doors steam open as a hatted man steps onto the platform, locking his eyes with mine. They sparkle with unfounded intensity unhindered by the shining sea green of his irises. In a moment I am transported to a garden: him sipping sparkling wine and me staring into those glossy eyes. The moon grows as we kiss, fireflies dancing by our heads like nature’s halos.

All too soon the moment is over when his gaze leaves my awed stare. The conductor screeches his whistle and I pick up the bag, stepping up into the carriage. A quick glance behind reveals the mystery man’s stare as the doors hiss closed once more.