Train Fellow 2 2021 -

The train lurched forward. Outside, the river bent, just as he’d remembered.

This time, though, something shifted.

“I’m Paul,” he said.

And that’s when I understood: a train fellow isn’t a stranger forever. Sometimes, a second crossing turns him into a companion. Not by plan. By mileage. By the slow, diesel-scented accumulation of small, shared silences finally breaking open.

The 7:42 was delayed. Forty minutes on a siding, the rain painting slow streaks down the glass. Passengers groaned, shuffled, pulled out phones like lifelines. But Tweed Coat—he reached into his bag and pulled out two small apples. Not one. Two. train fellow 2

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?

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. The train lurched forward

For the next train fellow , the note said.