I never expected to meet someone like Leo on a train. It was just another ordinary morning, another crowded commute to work. I had my headphones in, a book open on my lap, trying to block out the world. But then, as the train jolted forward, someone stumbled slightly and sat down in the empty seat beside me.
“Sorry,” he said, adjusting his bag. I glanced up for a second—messy blond hair, a light gray sweater, eyes that held a kind of quiet curiosity. Then I looked back down at my book, thinking nothing of it.
Until he spoke again.
“That’s a good one,” he said, nodding toward my book.
I blinked, surprised. Most people didn’t talk on the train. “You’ve read it?”
“Twice,” he admitted with a grin. “The ending still gets me.”
I didn’t mean to smile, but I did. That was the first time I really noticed him.
From then on, we kept running into each other. Same train, same time, as if the universe had placed us on the same path. Some days we talked about books, other days about music, about our favorite places in the city. Slowly, our train rides turned from silent commutes into the best part of my morning.
One day, as the train pulled into my stop, he hesitated before I got up.
“Would you want to get coffee sometime?” he asked, his voice slightly uncertain, as if he wasn’t sure I’d say yes.
I felt my heart beat a little faster.
“I’d like that,” I said, smiling.
That coffee turned into walks in the park, into late-night conversations, into something I didn’t even realize I was searching for.
And now, every time I step onto that train and see him waiting for me with that same quiet smile, I know—sometimes, love doesn’t announce itself loudly. Sometimes, it simply finds a seat next to you and stays.
