I smiled. The journey, I realized, had only just begun. Would you like this as a prose poem, a flash fiction, or a script for a short film?
“You take the window side,” he said. “Last time, I noticed you like to watch the river bend at Mile 14.” train fellow 2
I stared. Then took the apple. Then laughed—because he was right. Because in all those wordless trips, he had been noticing. And so had I. His habit of tapping his ring on the armrest when the train crossed a bridge. The way he always saved a seat for someone who never came. I smiled
He turned. Held one out.