That moment

He could have died many times over during that split second when their eyes made contact. Until today, he still could not put a finger on how it was possible for two strangers to lay eyes on each other for what seemed like an eternal moment in a train carriage packed full of sweaty, harried and frustrated commuters.

If love---or for that matter, hate--- could be found at first sight, that moment in the carriage was it. He saw her or was it she who saw him first? It didn't matter then, and it didn't matter now.

He could feel her eyes boring into him like a powerful pneumatic drill breaking apart concrete. He could feel her eyes searching into his soul, creeping into hidden corners of his psyche and trying to grasp the kind of person he was.

Similarly, his eyes were all over her - giving her whole facial appearance a once-over. The tired eyes with lines edging them; a high forehead that spelled intelligence; a strong jawline that hinted at a woman in control of the situation; and a hairdo that was probably confected in some high-class salon. He wanted to check out her body, but the mass of passengers blocking his sight could only offer occasional glimpses of a lissome figure.

Somehow the visual explorations undertaken by each one of them converged in that moment when their eyes locked on each other's, and stayed locked until the announcement of Station X jerked both of them out of that moment.

He disembarked first along with suited humanity, happy to be freed from the claustrophobic carriage. Something told him to wait outside the carriage.

She appeared, the penultimate passenger, alighting at the stop. He gave her a nod which she acknowledged.

That moment was eons ago. But it signalled the start of his Jekyll-and-Hyde existence. Caring family man in the light of public scrutiny; and toyboy - when the shades were drawn.

He snaps out of his reverie, looks at the knife in his hand crimsoned fresh with her blood. His eyes lock on her eyes - a revisit of their very first encounter. Except she is fast expiring on her deathbed, her jawline sagging weakly and the eyes losing their light swiftly.

So this is what they say when love (or lust) turns to hate.

He turns around and leaves the room.