The rhythmic sound of the train rolling along the tracks was the only thing filling the quiet night. Outside, the world blurred into a watercolor painting of misty mountains and moonlit fields. Inside, warm golden light flickered from overhead lamps, casting a soft glow over passengers lost in books, soft conversations, or dreams against the window.
In the middle of it all sat Emilia, alone in a quiet corner of the train car. She had always loved train rides, the way they made her feel like she was drifting between worlds, neither here nor there. But tonight, she wasn’t just riding for the love of it—she was running. Away from a city that no longer felt like home. Away from memories she wished she could leave behind.
She stared out the window, her fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns on the cool glass. That’s when she heard a voice.
“Is this seat taken?”
She turned to see a man standing beside her row, his travel bag slung over one shoulder, his expression cautious but warm. He had dark hair slightly tousled by the wind and eyes that reminded her of the night sky—deep, endless, full of quiet stories.
Emilia hesitated. “No… it’s free.”
He nodded, setting his bag down and taking the seat across from her. “Thanks. It’s always a gamble picking a seat on these late-night trains.”
She gave a small smile. “Why’s that?”
“Well,” he said, grinning, “you either end up next to someone who wants to talk for hours… or someone who glares at you for breathing too loudly.”
Emilia laughed—really laughed—for the first time in what felt like weeks.
“Which one are you?” he asked, watching her with curiosity.
She thought about it. “Depends. Do you talk too much?”
“Only when I have something worth saying,” he said, leaning back in his seat. “I’m Adrian, by the way.”
“Emilia.”
“Nice to meet you, Emilia. Are you going somewhere or leaving somewhere?”
She blinked at the question. “Does it matter?”
Adrian tilted his head slightly. “Maybe not. But I think the ones who are leaving somewhere always look out the window more.”
Emilia let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. He was right.
For the next hour, they talked in the way strangers sometimes do when they know they might never meet again. Emilia found herself telling him about the bookstore she used to work at, the way she loved the smell of old paper and ink-stained fingers. He told her about his love for night trains, how he’d always felt they belonged to dreamers and wanderers.
“You know,” Adrian said at one point, “this train only stops at small towns. Not exactly a dreamer’s paradise.”
“Maybe paradise isn’t a place,” Emilia mused. “Maybe it’s a feeling. A moment.”
Adrian watched her for a long time before nodding. “Maybe you’re right.”
The train carried them through the night, and slowly, the space between them felt smaller. They shared stories about childhood dreams, about places they wanted to see, about fears and hopes they had never spoken aloud to anyone else.
At some point, Emilia drifted off, her head resting against the window. When she woke up, the first hints of dawn painted the horizon, and Adrian was still there, looking out at the soft, golden light spilling over the landscape.
“How long was I asleep?” she murmured.
“Not long,” he said, turning to her. “I was keeping watch. Making sure the sunrise was worth waking up for.”
Emilia rubbed her eyes and smiled. “And? Was it?”
Adrian didn’t look away. “Yeah. It really was.”
She felt her heart do something strange—something she hadn’t felt in a long time. A warmth, a flutter, a quiet promise of something new.
As the train pulled into the next station, Adrian shifted in his seat. “This is my stop,” he said, slinging his bag over his shoulder.
Emilia’s chest tightened. “Oh.”
Adrian hesitated for just a moment, then pulled out a small notebook from his bag. He tore out a page and placed it on the table between them.
“In case you ever decide you want to go somewhere, instead of just leaving,” he said, his eyes soft.
Then, with one last smile, he stepped off the train.
Emilia stared at the folded paper for what felt like forever before finally picking it up. She unfolded it with shaky fingers and found a simple message inside:
“The best journeys are the ones you don’t take alone. If you ever want company, you know where to find me.”
And beneath it, his phone number.
As the train started moving again, Emilia looked out the window—not as someone who was leaving, but as someone who was finally thinking about where she wanted to go.
And for the first time in a long time, she knew she wasn’t alone anymore.
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