The Stranger on the Train
He’d smiled at me yesterday while I was buying coffee. A slow, knowing smile. I’d blushed, paid, and left.
Now, on the evening train, he sat across from me. The carriage was nearly empty. He watched me with the same intensity.
“Following me?” I asked, half joking.
“Perhaps.” He leaned forward. “Or maybe fate has a plan.”
I should have looked away. Instead, I uncrossed my legs, letting my skirt ride up. His eyes dropped to the skin above my thigh.
“If this is fate,” I said, “then what happens next?”
He moved to the seat beside me. His hand rested on my knee, sliding slowly upward. “That depends on you.”
The train rattled, the lights flickered. I took his hand and guided it higher. He kissed me—hard, demanding—and for the rest of the ride, the world outside didn’t exist.
When the train stopped, he was gone. But I still feel his touch.
