The hum of the train was a constant, rhythmic lull that made time feel fluid, like the countryside blurring past the window. Under the dim lights of the dining car, Eleanor Fields sat alone at a small table, her fingers wrapped around a cup of lukewarm coffee. Outside, a dark expanse stretched into the night, only interrupted by the fleeting glow of distant towns, each one a world she would never step into.
She sighed and glanced around. It was late, and most passengers had retreated to their sleeper cabins. Only a few souls remained, some reading quietly, others murmuring in hushed tones. This was the part of the journey she loved most — the silent hours when everyone's guard was down and conversations seemed to mean more, as if the darkness outside invited strangers to open up.
Then, he appeared.
Tall, broad-shouldered, and looking a little out of place in his worn leather jacket, Alexander "Alex" Hayes hesitated at the entrance of the car. His gaze swept over the mostly empty tables until it landed on hers. With a quick, almost shy smile, he took a step forward.
"Mind if I join you?" he asked, his voice carrying a hint of the South — warm and unassuming.
Eleanor arched a brow, surprised. She hadn't expected anyone to approach her at this hour. But there was something in his eyes — a curiosity she hadn't seen in a while. Perhaps, she thought, it wouldn't hurt to talk.
"Be my guest," she replied, gesturing to the empty seat across from her.
As Alex settled in, their eyes met, and for a brief moment, it felt as if they were the only two people in the world. The train chugged along, a steady, comforting noise, like the beating of a giant heart.
"What brings you to the midnight train?" she asked, raising her cup to her lips.
"Ah, well," he started, leaning back as if considering how much to say. "Let's just say I'm chasing a story. I'm a journalist, sort of."
"Sort of?" she echoed, intrigued despite herself.
He grinned, a flash of mischief in the low light. "Freelance, actually. But I'm more interested in other people's stories right now." He tilted his head. "What about you?"
Eleanor shifted in her seat, taken aback by the question. She could say she was on her way to a conference, a routine work trip — which was true, but somehow, in this small, quiet corner of the train, the truth felt hollow. So instead, she set her cup down and met his gaze.
"I suppose," she murmured, "I'm just trying to figure out where I belong."
It was an odd answer, unexpected even to her own ears, but it seemed to resonate. Alex didn't press her, didn't ask for more details. Instead, he leaned forward, resting his arms on the table.
"I get that," he said softly. "I think we all are, in our own way."
Silence fell, not awkward, but contemplative. Outside, the train rolled past a nameless town, its lights flickering like fireflies. Eleanor found herself relaxing, the tension she hadn't realized she'd been carrying slowly dissipating. Talking to Alex was easy, comfortable, as if they were old friends rather than strangers who'd just met.
"So, Eleanor Fields," he said after a while, testing her name as if it were a melody. "Where does your journey end?"
"Chicago," she answered, studying him. "And yours?"
"Chicago," he echoed, a faint smile playing on his lips. "Looks like we're headed in the same direction."
But as the train sped onward through the night, Eleanor couldn't help but wonder — was it really the same destination they were heading toward, or something else entirely?