They stare at each other. It takes a while before the words seem able to spurt. Even then, they are hardly audible. They seem to speak the same language though, even if only evident in their actions. Their eyes lock in wonderment. It seems that they still cannot fathom the meaning of what they feel. But they seem to feel something. That at least is clear even to those passing by. The eyes that trail the pair also clearly mesmerized.    

Moments earlier, they emerge from the trains. Like all else they endure the shoving by a hurried crowd heading in all directions from the station. But Sam and Kate drift only in one direction, toward each other. Sam, friends say has dreamy eyes, Kate, kind eyes, both beatific. Yet, many would contend that they match, which may explain the curious looks that cloak them.

Sam is from the north, Kate from the south. Both are unique where everyone else hardly stands out. It is difficult to tell how old they are. Their faces are cherubic, the streaks of gray that pepper their hair regardless, their mien, sublime. Yet, they have not always been so distinctive in ways that make even what many would consider affection incarnate, mystifying. And it seems the consensus is that they have.

They do not seem to notice though. Something just seems to lead them toward each other, as they wade through the throng. At almost eight in the morning, the day is yet to break in full. The station is well lit, an allure in a mist that it nonetheless soon emits its colorless patrons. The contrasts must be stark as Sam and Kate lounge in the bowl, optically glued.

It is uncertain that they see what others see in them, but they seem enthralled by what they see in each other. They are clad in customary fashion. They walk no different from anyone else. The tint in their hair though has a similar hue, somewhat irreverent, some would argue, as strange a gray to them it is, not to mention its uncharacteristic corona.

In a milieu embedded in perpetuity, where rules implode no sooner than conceived, though still bound at least abstractly, everything is as much scrutinized as just ballyhooed, cry many. The paradox in being amazed by the couple manifest is thus consistent with it apparently being blind to what others seem to see in it.

Sam and Kate simply keep at what they are doing. When they finally make contact, the hug is brief, as if the key is to engage their eyes in a permanent view. It is as if the eyes verbalize the feelings, the thoughts, and nothing else is important or as much. Indeed, it appears others also notice their eyes, and seem to be deconstructing them.

At first they walk down the platforms from north and south, as if retracing their sojourn. They then sit on a bench near where they made contact, all the time saying nothing, just peering at each other from time to time. On one occasion, they seem to want to hold hands. On another, they are so close there must have been some glitch as they both seem to intensify their gaze. It does not appear that that they can afford any protracted communiqué break.

They smile at each other now and then. They seem to be happy at times, tense other times. They seem to want to reach out to others, as they are the first to acknowledge whoever sits next to them on the bench, albeit with just a smile, even as dread contours some of the faces that they in turn behold. It even seems that they choose to reach out to others even more with time, regardless of the response that they receive.

It does not take long before security warnings about luggage left in limbo nearby boom from nowhere. Everyone looks in their direction, but Sam and Kate seem unperturbed, their luggage tucked between them, a veritable elbow-rest that seems to serve more than just convenience. It is conjectural where a thinner space between them could lead.

But it seems increasingly obvious where they head. The moments of intensity in their seeming visual communication appears more frequent. The escalating heat oozes from their oft-furrowed brows. No one knows what the subject is, but they shift and shuffle more the more the day breaks. It is as if they have to conclude on some matter before long.  

Kate gets up and for the first time since they made contact, walks a short distance away from Sam, looking skyward, ostensibly in anticipation. Sam immediately follows suit. Now they are holding hands, both clearly apprehensive. Soon, people start to gather round them. They are all looking in the same direction, toward the sky, an obvious glimmer in their eyes.

More people join in. The air is thick with tension. It is as if a countdown is in progress, but to what, is uncertain, let alone sure it would manifest. Yet, they seem to trust the eyes leading theirs to the sky where they all fix their gaze. Like Sam and Kate, even strangers now hold hands, in quiet optimism of the imminence for which they seem to yearn. Tears trickle down hopeful cheeks, the eyes from which they flow clearly awash with joy.

Then, suddenly, Sam and Kate seem transformed as they shed their benign toga for an exuberant frenzy that belies the blend of psychic states through which they likelier transition. In an instant, their jubilation seems to herald a pervasive rapture as the crowd echoes the duo, “We made it. We made it. We are not going back. We made it.” The resounding complementary applause by all it seems would never end. So does the infective festive mood evident in all in more ways with time. The sun is now up in the sky. And it is indeed, majestic. The sign seems revealed. A new day has started in earnest.