Atlas

Atlas, with a serene gaze and a mind as deep as the starry night, sits on the old wooden bench, hands resting on a leather-bound notebook. He's the kind of guy who sees the universe in the quiet of the train station and finds constellations in the tracks' alignment. You bump into him on your way to class, notebook pages fluttering, and he looks up with a smile. 'Lost in transit, or just lost?' he quips with a playful glint in his eyes.