The Last Train to Love

A Cold Platform

It was 8:30 pm on a grey November night in London. The crowd at St. Pancras Station moved like waves — purposeful, busy, and unaware of the quiet hearts that passed among them. Anna Morgan stood on Platform 6, her breath visible in the cold, clutching a cup of lukewarm coffee and a worn leather satchel. Her train — the 8:47 pm Eurostar to Paris — was the last one that night.

She wasn’t going to Paris for love. That chapter in her life had closed long ago — sealed with heartbreak in a Berlin hostel room two years earlier. Since then, she traveled not to find love, but to escape it. Her job as a travel columnist allowed her to keep moving, never stopping long enough to feel the emptiness.

But tonight felt different. There was a chill in the air that wasn’t just weather. A sort of pull, like something — or someone — was about to happen.

That’s when she saw him.

Tall, wrapped in a deep navy coat, with curls peeking from his wool cap and a paperback book in hand. He looked lost, not in direction, but in thought. Their eyes met only briefly, but it was enough. Just a flicker. Then he looked away.

Or did he?

Words Between Windows

She found her seat in Coach 11 — a window view she had chosen intentionally. The city lights blurred as the train glided forward, silent and swift. She opened her laptop to write, but her mind wandered.

Then, a voice:

"Excuse me, is this 45B?"

It was him — the same man from the platform.

He smiled politely. She nodded, heart thudding. He took his seat beside her.

For a few minutes, silence reigned — the kind of quiet that is aware of itself. Then, a simple question broke the wall:

"Are you going to Paris for business or pleasure?"

"Neither," Anna replied, a little surprised at her honesty. "I'm going for clarity."

That made him smile. "Then we might have more in common than I thought."

He introduced himself as Julien Marceau — born in Lyon, raised in Brussels, now a designer living in London. He loved trains because they gave him space to think.

As the train sped through the countryside, their conversation deepened. From music and favorite authors, to heartbreak, to the meaning of loneliness. Anna found herself laughing more in that two-hour ride than she had in months. She noticed how he spoke softly, how his hands moved when he told a story, how he paused to listen.

By the time they passed Lille, she no longer noticed the time. She only noticed him.

Unsaid Goodbyes

Paris arrived too soon. The train slowed under golden station lights, and the mood changed — passengers shifting, standing, reaching for coats and luggage.

Julien stood, hesitant. Anna looked at him, heart pounding.

"Thank you," she said softly. "For… the company."

He looked down, then back at her.

"I was going to ask for your number," he said, "but I think I shouldn’t."

"Why not?" she asked, surprised.

"Because some meetings are meant to be complete in themselves. Like a poem — perfect because it ends."

She blinked. Was this really it?

He handed her the book he was reading — The Little Prince.

"There’s a message for you inside. Don’t read it here."

Before she could say another word, he smiled, turned, and walked out into the Paris night.

Anna stood frozen. The noise of the station blurred behind her.

The Invitation

Later, at a quiet hotel room near Rue Lafayette, Anna opened the book.

On the inside page, a note in soft handwriting read:

> “If you ever believe again in beautiful accidents,

Come find me in Lyon.

Every Friday at 6 pm, I sit in the old train station café.

Maybe I’ll be reading this book again.

— J.”

Tears welled up. She read the message three times. It felt surreal. Had this really happened?

She lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling.

And then, she smiled.

Maybe love doesn’t always roar into your life. Maybe sometimes, it arrives softly — on steel tracks and whispered pages. Maybe it’s not always about forever.

Sometimes, it’s just about showing up.

And maybe, just maybe…

She would go to Lyon.