The Last Train to Varna
June 10, 2025
The cold platform buzzed with the shuffle of boots, murmurs of travelers, and the distant hiss of steam. Elena hugged her coat tighter, steam curling from her breath. The Varna-bound train, the last of the night, loomed ahead like a slumbering beast.
She glanced at her ticket again. Car 3, seat 12. Not that it mattered—she had no intention of sitting. The trip was a formality, a necessary escape. Behind her lay Sofia, a city now full of closed doors and final words.
“Excuse me,” came a voice. Male. Gentle.
Elena turned. The man wore a navy peacoat, his scarf askew, curls brushing his brow. In his left hand, he held a violin case. His eyes—gray and watchful—met hers.
“Is this the line for Varna?” he asked.
She nodded. “Final train of the night.”
“Good.” He smiled. “I thought I’d missed it.”
“You almost did,” she said. “They’re not patient.”
He chuckled, stepping closer to the platform’s edge. “Neither am I.”
Silence stretched between them like the tracks below.
“Traveling for business?” he asked, motioning toward her suitcase.
“Not really,” Elena replied. “Just leaving.”
He raised an eyebrow but didn’t press. Instead, he held out a gloved hand.
“I’m Andrei.”
“Elena.”
They shook hands. Hers was cold. His, surprisingly warm.
“Are you… a musician?” she asked, nodding toward the violin.
“Not a great one,” he said. “But enough to get by.”
“Varna must be full of gigs.”
He laughed. “Or full of silence. I guess I’m chasing both.”
The whistle sounded—sharp and final.
They boarded together, her suitcase thudding behind her. Car 3 was almost empty, the light flickering. Seat 12 faced a window smeared with snow and time.
As Elena settled in, Andrei paused.
“Would you mind some company?” he asked. “The silence back there is… heavy.”
She gestured to the empty seat beside her. “I wouldn’t.”
He slid in, setting the violin carefully on the rack.
The train lurched forward, the city lights smearing into streaks of gold and amber.
“Leaving anything important behind?” he asked softly.
Elena hesitated.
“A man,” she said. “An almost-love.”
Andrei turned his head slightly. “Almost-loves can be the hardest.”
“I thought we had time,” she murmured. “Turns out, time ran faster than we did.”
He looked out the window, then back. “What happened?”
She shrugged. “He chose his past. A familiar comfort. I was too uncertain, I guess.”
Andrei didn’t respond at first. Then, softly:
“Sometimes, we don’t choose the person who excites us—we choose the one who feels safe.”
She glanced at him. “Which are you?”
“Neither, yet.”
That made her smile. It felt unfamiliar on her face.
Outside, darkness rolled past them, dotted by dim lights of distant villages.
“Why Varna?” she asked.
“My sister just had a baby,” he said. “I promised to play lullabies.”
“That’s sweet.”
He nodded. “And you?”
Elena took a breath. “My aunt has a guesthouse. She said I could disappear there for a while.”
“To heal?”
“Maybe to forget.”
Andrei leaned back. “Funny thing about trains. They make you feel like you’re moving forward. Even when your heart’s still stuck behind.”
“That’s poetic,” she said.
He gave her a sideways glance. “Maybe you inspire it.”
They sat in silence for a while. The hum of the rails filled the space between them.
At some point, Andrei stood, retrieving his violin.
“May I?” he asked.
“Here?”
He nodded. “Just a little.”
She smiled. “Sure.”
He tucked it under his chin, closed his eyes, and began to play.
The notes floated like breath—tender, hesitant, beautiful. A slow waltz, aching with longing. The melody curled around Elena’s chest, gently unwinding the knot she’d kept hidden.
When he finished, she was silent.
“That was… stunning,” she whispered.
He met her eyes. “Music tells the truth. Even when we can’t.”
She nodded slowly. “You don’t even know me.”
“I know what heartbreak looks like.”
She looked out the window. “It’s not that simple.”
“It never is.”
The train slowed, pulling into a dimly lit station. A few passengers boarded. Most remained asleep.
They rode on. The hour grew late.
“I think I’ll write about this someday,” Elena said suddenly.
“Are you a writer?”
“Was. Might be again.”
He smiled. “Then I’m honored to be a character.”
She laughed, genuinely this time. “You’d be the mysterious musician.”
“I like that.”
The lights flickered. Outside, snow began to fall—soft, steady.
Elena looked down at their hands—his resting near hers. Almost touching.
“Do you think… people can meet at the wrong time?” she asked.
Andrei tilted his head. “Maybe. Or maybe time just waits for them to notice.”
She looked up. “And if they never do?”
He smiled. “Then they ride the same train in silence, wondering ‘what if.’”
Her fingers brushed his—light, electric.
“I don’t want to wonder,” she whispered.
“Neither do I.”
Their hands intertwined, warm and tentative.
The train sped through the night, two strangers no longer.
When it reached Varna just past dawn, they stepped off together. The city was quiet, streets dusted in frost.
“You know,” Elena said, adjusting her coat, “I still don’t know your last name.”
He grinned. “Does it matter?”
“Maybe not.”
They walked toward the taxis, shoulders brushing.
“What now?” he asked.
She looked at him, really looked.
“We find coffee,” she said. “And see where the day goes.”
He nodded.
And just like that, the next chapter began.