This morning I boarded the inbound Metro at the last minute, finding a full train for the second time this week. Though I often don’t get a seat on the way home from the office, I usually do get one on the way there, since I start at the end of the line.

But today, no way. So I set down my bag, pulled out my newspaper and settled in for the duration. It’s not a long ride, and I could use the standing time. Which is not to say I didn’t fantasize about someone popping up and offering me a seat. I wasn’t even sure that I would take it, but I wanted it to be offered. (Perverse, but true.)

That’s when I noticed the teenager in the yellow sweatshirt. He was sitting in one of the side-facing seats and was, like most riders, totally absorbed in his phone. His sweatshirt read “Seek Discomfort.” How ironic, I thought. Apparently, this did not extend to the discomfort of giving up his seat to a middle-aged woman.

But then, as if he read my mind, he looked up, caught my eye and smiled.  It was such a sweet smile. He must have been all of 15. “Would you like this seat?” he said.

“Oh, no,” I replied. “I’m fine. But thank you.”

He had sought discomfort. And so had I.