The Night Train Reunion – Part 1: Halfway

They had agreed to meet halfway, which turned out to be a night train at Innsbruck.

Sofia stood on the platform at eleven at night with a battered rucksack, her heart racing, scanning the faces under the station lamps. She was thirty-nine, a doctor, back from nine months with a medical team in Spain. She had not seen her husband since January. Mattias had been working in Stockholm. They had talked every night on video, but screens were a poor substitute for skin.

The night train hissed in. Doors banged. Passengers swarmed. And there, leaning out of a carriage window, in a blue jumper and a ridiculous hat, was Mattias, waving both arms.

She ran.

He jumped down before she reached the carriage. They collided on the platform, and he lifted her off her feet, laughing, kissing her hair. She wept and laughed against his chest. He smelled of wool and coffee and home.

"You're thin," she said.

"You're brown."

"I've missed you."

"I've missed you a ridiculous amount."

Compartment Eleven was a tiny cabin with two bunks, a folding table and a window onto the dark. Mattias had brought a bottle of Riesling, a block of Swedish cheese and a tin of pickled herring, which she refused.

They sat on the lower bunk, knees touching, as the train jolted out of the station and began to climb. Snowy peaks glowed pale in the moonlight. The wheels sang on the rails.

"Can I ask you something?" said Sofia.

"Yes."

"How was it?"

"Awful," said Mattias. "I talked to a houseplant."

She laughed until she cried again. He took her hand, and turned it over, and kissed her palm.

"Green?" she whispered, the old word.

"Green," said Mattias, voice cracking. "Very green. Tell me everything."

Continue the story: Part 2 – Through the Alps.