Green whisked by. Blue sky, white clouds. Green came back. The speed of a train will always amaze me. How someone managed to figure out how all of it works will always fascinate me. But for now, as the green disappears again, returning my eyes to the crystal waters of the shore, I don’t care. The train gets me to where I want to be, and that’s all I need right now.

​

In the corner of my eye, I see her shuffle. I look. She’s pulled her hood up and scrunched herself in the far corner of the seat, back to the window, knees tucked into her chest, eyes glued to her phone screen. She’s got that permanent smile on her lips. It curves so slightly you wouldn’t notice it looking right at her. It’s only those who know her that see it. And I always see it. She noticed me looking and a frown flashed across her face, her smile widening slightly.

 

“What?”

 

I smiled back.

 

“Nothing.”

 

I looked away, back at the view. I could still see the shore. The sun bounced off the waters, its light rippling over the waves as they rolled towards me. As my eyes travelled along the shoreline, gaze dancing over the tiny figures of the people walking around, I noticed her still looking at me. Her phone was held against her chest and her head leaned against the glass. Her frown was gone but her smile was still there. I turned my head to fully face her.

 

“What?”

 

Her smile widened.

 

“Nothing.”

 

She turned her head to look out the window, her smile not faltering for a second. Now I waited, still looking at her, tracing her face with my eyes. Her jaw was set and sharp, the sun curving around it. Her wide, green eyes shone like emeralds in the light and her blonde hair scooped the rays up and made them dance among the roots on her scalp. There was beauty in every light, in every turn of her head. How did I get so lucky? Oh yeah, that’s right. Right place, right time. Even now, I can't quite process how I got here but I'm not complaining.

 

She lives in the flat above me, apartment 6B. I am in 5B, although that’s pretty obvious. We had been made aware of each other over the four years I've lived there through various flat parties that we've been invited to and the occasional fire alarm that’s been set off ‘accidentally’. We grew to know each other and we got along quite well but never to the extent that one invited the other into their apartment to chat. For me, it was just nervousness. She was the cute girl next door, but in this case, she’s the hot woman who lives above me, and I know my history with partners. The last one burned my phone because she was convinced I was cheating. We had been dating a month and she hadn't left my side the entire time. The only other woman on my phone was my mother. I'm still confused as to how so burned my phone. Thought those things were practically indestructible. But yeah, not much success with women. But it was one night that led me here, on this train, with her.

 

I heard stomps above me and shouting. It was too muffled to make anything out but I could distinctly make out her voice. The other’s was a man. After a few minutes of arguing, the door was opened and slammed shut. Light sobs drifted through the ceiling. I hurried to the door, opening it and just catching the back of a man walking down the stairs, grumbling abuse under his breath. Quickly, I closed the door, not wanting to be caught as the nosy neighbour. I walked into my kitchen and poured the rest of the boiled water from my kettle into my cup, swirling it with the cold tea that was already in there, but my mind wandered back to my female companion in the flat above me. I knew she had a boyfriend but I had never met him. I knew his name, height, foot size, likes and dislikes, but I had never laid eyes upon him. I had wanted to ask but never did. It never felt right to do so. But from what she had been saying, and how she said it, they were happy. She said that rarely fought, they both got along with each other’s parents. So what triggered such a fight was unknown.

​

Then, my doorbell rang. I looked at my door, trying to calm my heart. Maybe it was her? But, maybe again, it wasn’t. I dashed to the door, as normally as I could, and opened it. There she was, standing with her arms folded, teary-eyed and red-nosed. Nothing was needed to be said before I stepped aside and invited her in. She accepted, striding straight from the door to the sofa, where she plopped herself and rested her head in her hands. Unsure of what to do, I closed the door and joined her, sitting at a distance I felt was necessary and deemed safe of a woman who was crying in a near-stranger’s apartment. Without me saying a word, she lifted her head and explained everything.

 

They had broken up. As she spoke, explaining their fights and their arguments and everything, tears ran down her face. She cried until I ran out of tissues, then using her sleeve to rub the tears from her eyes and cheeks. All I did was smile sympathetically at her as she talked, offering a few hums of understanding. She asked if she could stay the night, sending herself to the sofa, where she insisted she stayed. I didn’t want to argue with her and allowed her to stay, giving her a few blankets and a pillow to sleep with she accepted them graciously, smiling and thanking me. I then left her to sleep. The next morning, she was gone. The blankets were folded neatly in a pile alongside the pillow and a note, explaining why she left but that she was grateful for me that night. And that started a trend.

 

It started with once a week. Once a week she would venture her way down to my apartment and we would talk, watch something, drink and eat, do whatever we felt like for however long she wanted. Sometimes, she would stay the night and be gone by the next morning, others she would leave around 2 am, and on very few and rare occurrences, she would stay the night and I would wake to find her cooking breakfast for us. Over time, these visits got more frequent and the ‘good morning’ breakfasts got more frequent too until a month ago, when we realised that she hadn't left my apartment for over a week. She had brought clothes down from her apartment, she had bought food for my fridge, and she had taken numerous naps in my bed after a day of work. We were practically living together. She still hasn’t left my apartment, it was just something we noticed but never dealt with.

 

Now, by this point, I liked her. Like, a lot, liked her. I looked forward to coming home, I was excited to wake up. Every time I saw her, I smiled, every time she laughed, my heart soared. And, sadly, I was sure she didn’t feel the same. But now, we’re on this train. The greens of the trees and the blue sea stretching across the golden sands whizzing by the window as we look at each other. A look that I've only seen on a few people. At least, I think I see it. Eyes narrowed yet wide, speaking more emotion than any one word could say. Well, one word could say it. If I widened my smile, so did she. If I started to laugh, she did too. We’re locked in this gaze, this endless transference of words that we might never say to each other but we’ll try to as best we can. At some point.

 

I let my smile grow a little more and her’s does too. My heart flutters and I tilt my head to the window. She copies. Neither of us want to look away for a moment. I dart my eyes away and hear a little giggle. My smile broadens. I clear my throat and rest my hands on the table between us, feeling the warmth of the sun against my skin. Then, a finger curls around mine. My heart jumps. Instantly, I move forward, keeping my eyes trained on the shoreline. Our hands grow closer until our fingers are intertwined. And there we sit, holding hands, as we speed along the tracks, hopeful and happy.