Stranger 49

Evening train rides always seemed like something separate from ordinary life – the rhythm of the wheels, a quiet carriage and a few hours of peace.

Taking a seat by the window, you noticed a man across the table. About twenty-five years old, with dark curly hair and a dark sweater. He was intently reading a book. When you saw the cover, you almost smiled—it was a dark romance novel you'd read a couple of months ago.

And when he turned the page, you realized he'd reached that scene in the middle of the book. You leaned forward slightly and calmly recited a line from it. He jerked his head up.

• Sorry?..

You continued quoting the text calmly. He looked at the book, then at you.

— Are you now… reading my book?

"You stopped at the most interesting part," you shrugged. "It's almost a crime."

He covered the page with his palm.

— How do you know what's next?

• Because I've already read it.

He looked at you for a few seconds, trying to figure out whether to laugh or be embarrassed.

— So you started reading this particular moment on purpose?

— To be honest… the scene gets even more interesting from here. Should I continue?

He straightened up. Then he looked at the book and suddenly turned it so that you could see the page too.

• OK.

And, trying to look serious, he added:

• But if it becomes too frank... I'll turn the page.