She's always thought parallel lines to be a metaphor for her love life. Always going the same way, but never meeting.
Most days, she goes to one of her favorite places; the places that manic-pixie-dream-boys meet their manic-pixie-dream-girls in the movies. Places like bookshops and coffee shops and used DVD stores and hidden parks. She does her hair and makeup and brings one of the classic books from her bookshelf. Something that she's never read before, but knows enough of the plot that she could hold an intelligent conversation should the moment strike.
She sees the same people there every day, or at least the same type. The tall skinny cyclists wearing plaid button-downs and aviator sunglasses all blend together a bit.
She tends to get the same coffee drink, some mocha blend with soy milkyou never know who might be vegan. She's not sure what's in it, but it's a number 14 and it tastes pretty good.
This particular day, she is reading Anna Karenina. It doesn't fit into her tiny bag, so she has to carry it around. (She's secretly pleased and hopes it could start a conversation at the coffee shop.) She's feeling brave today, so she when she would normally order her usual, she asks the aesthetically-pleasing cashier what he recommends. He tells her that the chai-something-or-other is "to die for" and moves onto the next customer.
She takes her drink back to her seat and opens up her book on her lap so that it appears she is reading rather than people-watching. She covers her hands with the too-long sleeves of her sweater to protect them from the heat of her tea. As she eyes the short, ginger, probably literary-type man across the store, she plays with the tag on her cup, ignoring the free words-of-wisdom that came with her overpriced beverage.
Good things come to those who wait.