Lives On Trains - 4

This is a cheating a little, but inspiration has been losing out to sloth this week. So, here's one's first Urf.

PS. This was not a deliberate anti-V post. One couldn't care two grapes about V's-day.

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She noticed him for the first time on a Wednesday, standing in the line to get tickets. She remembered the day, because it was the same day she started going to the gym. She took it as a sign, visualising Fate standing next to him with one of those big arrow-pointing placards that said “This could be yours”. Yes, she would quite happy for him to be hers. All scrumptious as he was, especially with that slightly I-may-be-wearing-a-banker’s-suit-but-I-could-do-with-a-little-nurturing look. Oh yes, wouldn’t she like to nurture him.

He had gotten into the same carriage as hers, and was still sitting when her stop came. Probably asking for too much for him to be getting off where she did. Still, at least he took the same train daily, sitting in the same carriage. She took that as another sign of their compatibility, sitting in the carriage that would stop closest to the exit. Foresight and planning, that’s what it showed. She liked that in him. And she liked him, especially when she got a closer look, which was easy to arrange. It wasn’t as if they were assigned seats numbers. And wasn't it probable that she had always taken the seat diagonally opposite his because she liked it, and it was her regular place? Yes, of course it was. And it was her regular place now, what with him sitting there looking just so yummy. Like an extra-chocolatey brownie. Mmmmmmm.

She found out which train he returned by, through a simple matter of getting on every train over a two hour period in the evenings. Even if that meant staying back later at work to co-ordinate with his schedule. Although that wasn’t too bad, as it made her appear more “diligent” and “eager” to her bosses. And he probably thought the same too. It was just enough to balance having to go home in the dark, and bundle up even more against the cold. Not that she wasn’t used to the winters here, but she was no weather-braving junkie. Cardigan, jacket, scarf, hat, gloves - these were necessities, not accessories. Even he thought the same, otherwise why had she never seen him remove his gloves even while in the train? There, another thing they both agreed on. Covering up was sensible. Although she wouldn’t mind seeing him with just a little less on. And spent quite a few hours imagining - and waiting - for summer to come so that he could discard some of them. Or letting her discard them for him. She would be more than happy to warm him up if he felt cold.

And days passed, and she continued going to the gym. Even though it meant she trained later in the evening, and often felt like giving up after a particularly long day at work, she kept herself motivated by thinking of his admiring glances as he noticed her svelte(ish) new figure. And she was sure he was noticing, catching him occasionally glancing at her through the reflection in the window. She knew she looked better, despite all the heavy layers that she was still forced to wear. And he had started looking better too, after he took up cycling to the station. Even if it meant his hair got grooves in them because of his helmet, and that he was more bundled up. She could live with that - she didn’t want him to get a cold or worse. But she did wish for the weather to get warmer, especially if that meant he would (hopefully) wear cycling pants. Those tight ones. Oh no, she didn’t mind him being athletic in the least.

And then, she took a trip. Two whole weeks. She was glad that it was busy enough to let her not dream about him too much, although she did get a few amused stares at times due to her occasional distractedness. And she kept herself going by pointing out that the weather would have warmed up enough for both of them to be able to shed those bulky outers. Not that she wanted to flaunt herself or ogle at him. She wasn’t cheap. But a casual display of one’s vim-and-vigour figure, and a discreet appraisal of another’s similar body - that was quite acceptable. And how she longed to appraise him.

The night before the day she returned to work, she dithered over what she would wear. She eventually plumped for something classy, yet slightly I-wouldnt-quite-turn-down-a-pickup-line. Black skirt, hemmed in dark red, just knee-length (her thighs still needed a little toning). The dark turquoise top. Heels, but not the high ones. And no hat, and no gloves. The warm snap would allow that. That done, she wondered what he would wear.

When she saw him the next morning, she got her answer in vivid detail. Cycling trousers. A light, snug jacket. No gloves. And a platinum ring. Third finger, left hand.

She didn’t reject the chocolate cookies a colleague passed round at work that day.