Steven Robertson was 28 years old. He was slightly overweight with the onset of a receding hairline, terrible dress sense and a shit job.
Olivia Stevenson was 25 years old. She was in great shape with large breasts, she had no history of acting ‘mental’ and she had fewer than three sexual partners.
Steven and Olivia both rode the Northern line from Stockwell to Moorgate daily, where they both left the tube to walk to their respective workplaces. In the 232 days since January 1st they had boarded the same tube 116 times, and of those 116 times they had shared a carriage 58. It would have been more but it took Steven 4 months to optimize his commute – he was not a fast learner.
The tube doors opened and vomited passengers onto the platform who dribbled away to the Victoria line before the train inhaled a fresh intake and departed. Today, August 22nd, at 08:11 am Steven and Olivia stood directly opposite each other on either side of the 4th door of the 3rd carriage (the optimal spot to exit via the Stevenage stairs at Moorgate) and smiled at each other.
The truth is that love does not have to be how you read about in novels or see it in films. It does not have to be fiery, bittersweet, lonely, lustful, unrequited, vengeful, dramatic, obsessive or scary. Sometimes it is a feeling of comfort, of seeing someone every day, knowing they will always be there (or at least from April onwards), sharing part of your life with them (even if it is your commute).
And that is how Steven Robertson and Olivia Stevenson came to fall in love.