On the steps of Moorgate station

It was around this day, ten years ago, that I met my P as a grown-up. At an entrance to Moorgate station. It was a warm summer's day, my first week in London, and we stood amidst the rush hour commuters as they parted midstream to avoid us. He had just come off a night shift. I was running late for a class. I don't remember us saying very much. I do remember us smiling. We bought an orange juice from the EAT opposite. P may have offered to show me around London. It was an ordinary weekday moment and neither of us had any idea yet how important we would become to each other. It was the quiet start of something beautiful and a moment I always remember every time I pass by that station.