I'm sure we've all experienced mamihlapinatapei at some point. We could've been sitting on the train or waiting for a jeep, locking eyes with a stranger who had a smile so small it was barely even there. In fact, it's like James Blunt's You're Beautiful could be summed up with just this one word! Haha.
This also reminds me of Haruki Murakami's On Seeing the 100% Perfect Girl One Beautiful April Morning. where the narrator experiences mamihlapinatapei in all its jaded glory:
Wish I could talk to her. Half an hour would be plenty: just ask her about herself, tell her about myself, and - what I’d really like to do - explain to her the complexities of fate that have led to our passing each other on a side street in Harajuku on a beautiful April morning in 1981. This was something sure to be crammed full of warm secrets, like an antique clock build when peace filled the world.
After talking, we’d have lunch somewhere, maybe see a Woody Allen movie, stop by a hotel bar for cocktails. With any kind of luck, we might end up in bed.
Potentiality knocks on the door of my heart.
Now the distance between us has narrowed to fifteen yards.
How can I approach her? What should I say?