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Two Weeks, Wrong City
romanceEveryone6 contributors · 5 paragraphs deep
We walked toward Platform 5 but didn't really talk. At the boarding gate she pulled her bag closer. "This is me," she said. I nodded. "Vienna?" "Yeah." "Good luck," she said quietly. "You too." She turned to go, then hesitated like she wanted to say something. But she didn't. The moment broke. She got in line.
I watched her disappear into the crowd of passengers. The Venice train pulled away. I stood there thinking I should've asked for her name spelled out, or her number, or anything. But I didn't. And that's how some people stay with you — as strangers who knew exactly what you needed to hear, and then became a question you couldn't stop asking.
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