The train screeched as it crossed the tracks and rolled into the station, finally stopping with a sharp, unpleasant whistle.
> "The City Tour Express has just arrived on the ninth track at platform six and ends its journey here. Dear passengers, welcome to Dublin…"
The announcement echoed through the station as Tabby stepped lightly onto the platform. She slung her travel bag over her shoulder and tucked her sunglasses into her hair. The journey had been exhausting — her chosen airline had suffered a technical issue and stopped in Dun Laoghaire, forcing her to rush for a train connection to Dublin.
She stretched, yawned, then fished a damp handkerchief from her jeans pocket to wipe away the coffee stain she'd spilled on the train. Unfortunately, she only smeared it further, leaving a blotchy brown mark right across her white T-shirt. With a silent curse, she shrugged in resignation, glanced around uncertainly, and stepped out into the bustle of the city.
> "Great. I'm definitely going to get lost here," she muttered.
To be safe, she bought a city map from a nearby newsstand. Her gaze then drifted toward an old man sitting alone on a bench. She approached him.
"Excuse me, sir, I'd like to get to the Saint James Hospital building."
"Then you'll want the bus stop over there," he said, pointing. "Number forty-one goes that way. Second stop, I think. But what, so young and already sick?"
Tabby laughed softly, then hesitated. "Oh—no. I'm visiting my… uh, my father. He works there."
"Ah, then I won't keep you up, miss. Goodbye." He smiled and returned to puffing on his cracked pipe.
Tabby thanked him and headed to the bus stop. Only a few people waited there. She set her bag down on the bench, pulled out her phone and headphones, and decided to pass the time with a few songs.
Closing her eyes, she tapped the folded city map against her palm in rhythm with the music. After a few minutes, she felt a light touch on her shoulder. Her eyes snapped open.
Next to her stood a slender young man, his tanned face framed by tousled chestnut hair. A warm smile flashed beneath his dark eyes, and between his fingers fluttered a beautiful butterfly.
"Excuse me," he said softly, "but it seems this little one chose your shoulder as its refuge. It's a Caligo telamonius — quite rare. I've no idea how it ended up here…"
He spoke more to the butterfly than to her, stroking its velvet wings marked with eye-like patterns. Tabby stared, momentarily speechless, as if she'd stumbled into a dream.
"Um… that's okay," she stammered. "I don't really know much about butterflies. They all look the same to me."
She winced inwardly at her own clumsy answer. Her eyes drifted to his necklace — small carved wooden charms — and the matching bracelet on his wrist.
"That's all right," he said easily. "Not everyone has to care." His gaze flickered briefly to the coffee-stained T-shirt she wore, then to the map in her hand. "Are you visiting our city?"
"Sort of… I came to see my father," she said, wishing her voice sounded more natural. Her usual confidence seemed to have evaporated.
"Welcome to the land of the Vikings," he said with a grin. "Ireland's beautiful — you'll like it. But if you're waiting for the bus, don't hold your breath. Their timetables are more like… vague suggestions. You'd be better off walking."
He placed the butterfly into a small vented box he'd pulled from his worn khaki backpack, then looked at her again — as if he wanted to say something more. Instead, he simply gave a small wave, slung his pack over one shoulder, and walked away with a lazy, swaying step.
Tabby found herself watching him long after he'd disappeared into the crowd. He had a broad-shouldered, athletic frame, light jeans faded from use, and a loose safari shirt that somehow suited him perfectly. Something about him — the tired shadows beneath his eyes, maybe — hinted at quiet sadness.
Her thoughts were broken by the screech of an approaching bus. With a sigh, she climbed aboard and took a window seat.
Great. I finally meet a decent guy in a strange city, and he vanishes like steam from a kettle.
She smiled faintly at the thought. Though her friends often envied her small, athletic figure and thick black hair she could never quite tame, Tabby hadn't been lucky in love. Only one boy had ever truly cared — Robby, the freckled, skinny kid from her neighborhood who wore glasses with lenses as thick as bottle bottoms. He never forgot her birthday, always bringing her a small bouquet of daisies.
Leaning her head against the bus window, Tabby watched the city glide by. A month ago, this day had felt so far away — but time had passed like water. Now, she braced herself for what came next: finally meeting her father again.