"The best way to find yourself is to lose yourself in the company of someone who sees you differently." ~ Unknown
Michael returned with the blanket folded over his arm. He spread it on the floor of the passageway, then lowered himself onto one corner. Selina settled beside him and pulled up the movie on her phone.
They chose The Terminal, a quiet film about waiting, about finding connection. It suited the hour, the narrow space, the strange suspension between destinations.
Halfway through, Michael felt a warmth settle against his shoulder. He glanced down. Selina's head had tilted toward him, her breathing slow and even, her lashes dark against her cheeks. She had fallen asleep without meaning to, her phone still playing in her hand.
He didn't move. For a long moment, he simply sat there, the weight of her against him both foreign and oddly natural. Then, carefully, he paused the movie and slipped the AirPod from her ear. He pulled the blanket up over her shoulders, tucking it around her.
She settled deeper into sleep, her head finding a more comfortable spot against him. Michael leaned his head back against the window and let his eyes drift to the darkness outside. The music in his remaining AirPod was soft, wordless, a rhythm of the tracks.
He didn't fall asleep. He watched the moonlight shift across the floor, listened to her breathing, and let himself exist in the quiet.
An hour later, Selina stirred. She blinked awake slowly, disoriented. Then she felt the warmth beneath her cheek, the solid presence beside her, and she lifted her head.
Michael was looking at her, his grey eyes calm and inexplicable.
"Sorry," she said quickly, heat rushing to her face. "I fell asleep on you."
"It's okay." His voice was low, unhurried. "Do you want to go inside and sleep? It's three in the morning."
She glanced at her phone, 3:07 a.m. "Yeah. Let's go."
He folded the blanket and she pulled open the door to the compartment. The moment dissolved.
Selina lay down in her assigned bed. She closed her eyes, expecting the usual swirl of thoughts, her mother's call, the argument that had driven her out of the compartment, but instead, all she could think about was the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath her cheek, the way he hadn't woken her, and simply let her rest.
She fell asleep before she could finish the thought.
The compartment was loud when they woke. Voices overlapped, bags rustled. Someone was complaining about the coffee. Selina blinked into the pale morning light filtering through the window, momentarily disoriented, and then the memory of the passageway returned. Michael's shoulder, the blanket, the way he looked at her when she opened her eyes.
She sat up quickly, reaching for her toiletries. In the narrow corridor outside the washroom, she nearly collided with him coming out.
He looked as composed as ever with his slightly dishevelled hair. When he saw her, his expression softened into something.
"Good morning."
"Morning."
Breakfast was a chaotic affair. Trays of packaged sandwiches and fruit cups were passed around, and someone had brought instant coffee that tasted mostly of sugar. Selina sat with her friends, laughing at something Sophia said, but her attention kept drifting across the aisle to where Michael sat near the window, eating his sandwich in unhurried bites.
Their eyes met once. She looked away first.
The train arrived at the station shortly before ten. The platform was crowded with other travellers, and for a few minutes, the group scattered, collecting bags and helping each other with the heavier suitcases. Michael moved through the chaos with quiet efficiency, lifting a duffel onto his shoulder for a girl who was struggling, adjusting straps, checking his own bag last.
Selina watched him from the corner of her eye as she organised her group.
A minivan waited outside the station. The drive to the hotel was an hour of singing and laughter, the windows down, the summer heat rushing in.
The hotel was modest but clean, with a lobby that smelled of lemon polish and fresh flowers. Room assignments were handed out: Selina with Sandy, Michael with a classmate whose name he hadn't quite caught. Separate beds, separate lives. He dropped his bag on the floor and sat on the edge of his mattress, staring at the white wall, listening to the muffled sounds of the hallway.
At lunchtime, the group reconvened. The street food market was a ten-minute walk away, a maze of stalls and smoke and shouting vendors. Selina had changed into a red skirt and black top, her hair loose, a black cap pulled low over her forehead.
Michael dressed in dark jeans and a black shirt, the top two buttons left open, his cross locket resting against his collarbone. His hair fell naturally, the soft white strands catching the sunlight. People looked at him as he passed, not with the recognition that Selina commanded, but with a quieter curiosity, the way one notices something rare and tries to understand it.
He pocketed his phone, his AirPods, his wallet and slipped on a pair of black goggles.
The van was waiting. People piled in, finding seats with their usual clusters. Selina was toward the back, talking to someone near the middle aisle, when her eyes landed on the last row.
Michael sat by the window, already lost in music, his head turned toward the glass.
She said something quick to the person she'd been speaking with, then slid into the seat beside him.
He noticed her presence before he heard it, a shift in the air, a warmth at his side. He pulled out one AirPod and looked at her, eyebrows raised.
"Can I sit here?" she asked.
He nodded. "Yes."
She settled back, her shoulder inches from his, and watched the city begin to slide past. She didn't ask for the other AirPod. She just sat beside him.