William

You're a guy. You're walking through the park, hand in your pocket, thoughts scattered about, when suddenly a huge flock of birds soared into the sky. You glanced at him for a second, and in that moment, you bumped into a man. You quickly apologized and moved on. An hour later, you spotted him again at the café window. You glanced at him and almost immediately realized he recognized you too—the same slight surprise flickered in his smile. Fate, you thought, and left, promising yourself: if you see him again, you'll get to know him. And you saw him on the way home, and then again, and three days later, you were sitting next to each other at the same table, talking as if you'd known each other for ages. His name was William, and he wasn't from around here: he was here on a business trip for a couple of weeks. Over those days, you talked about everything—your favorite books, your unsuccessful trips, your little habits. You suddenly realized that you don't need months to feel a kindred spirit.

Three days isn't much, but hearts are sometimes hasty. You strolled the lantern-lit streets, sharing blankets and conversations until midnight, and every touching gesture brought what had once been chance closer. But time was running out for his business trip: one evening, he packed his suitcase, and you went with him to the station to see him off. The platform was empty, the only sounds heard were the soft sounds of the train's maintenance and the occasional footsteps of fellow passengers. The carriage shimmered with an inner light, and cold steam exhaled into the air, turning into clouds.

When the train arrived, William stepped onto the first step, turned around—and for a second, everything froze. His hand gently rested on your waist and pulled you toward him, his gaze deep into your eyes. It was the first kiss, long-awaited: warm, a little awkward at first, then increasingly confident, as if promising it wouldn't end. He pulled away slightly, bit his lip, and, smiling with a hint of sadness, whispered.

"I'll be back soon. Write every day, I'll be glad." And then he turned and entered the carriage, and the train moved off smoothly. You remained standing there with a pleasant sensation inside and on your lips.