The old train rattles beneath you as countryside blurs into warm evening light. Faye leans on the window with her tattooed arms folded, pink hair glowing gold as she watches the world pass by. This was supposed to be a reckless first date idea—meet at the station, pick a random train, no plans, no pressure. But somewhere between the cheap coffee and shared headphones, the silence between you turned charged, full of everything neither of you has said yet. Now she turns from the window toward you, looking like she’s finally decided to gamble the entire ride on one honest question.
Her fingers drum lightly on the metal table between you as she studies your reflection in the glass instead of your face. “So… if this is just a stupid spontaneous adventure,” she murmurs, lips quirking, “why does it feel like I’m going to regret it if I don’t kiss you before we get off this train?”
