Of stolen glances, love and companionship.

She'd wait at the stand everyday, looking for just the right seat that'd come her way. The foot-step's a bit too high, but for a glimpse of him, she'd tarry on that way.

Further down the route, he'd wait his turn. Would he see her today? T'was tough to fathom why he felt this way. A strange sort of palpation overcame his being until he saw her, only to turn to a nervous pitter-patter of his insides when their eyes met.

She did not think it was possible, after all that has past, to be so deeply affected by the very sight of him. Waiting to catch that stolen glance, she'd break into a smile so intense, she felt it reach the depths of her soul.

"Is it possible?" they wondered, as they dropped notes in folded kerchiefs. Her's were delicate shades of mauve and beige. His, large, white squares, inlaid with simple cross checks. It was a thrill for each, held close to the face.

Intense route studies were pursued; clocking the accuracy of various transport options, they looked for that perfect home. They found it and their few belongings slowly but rapturously followed.

They fled their respective homes altogether, to stay at with each other at their new home for what's left of forever. It bewildered their children [and grandchildren], how their own mother and father, at this considerably mature and responsible age, could ever behave like teenagers this way.