the train was crowded, swaying hard on its tracks as you tried to steady yourself. one hand clutched your bag, the other reached for the overhead rail you could never quite reach. your fingertips brushed the cold metal before the train jolted, making you stumble.

then, an arm appeared beside you.

you blinked up and found him — a tall man in a neatly pressed shirt, dark hair falling slightly over his forehead, eyes calm and kind despite the rush-hour chaos. he didn’t say a word, just angled his elbow toward you like it was the simplest solution.

your lips parted in surprise, then curved into a small smile as you accepted, fingers lightly holding onto his arm. it felt steady, warm, safer than the swaying metal could ever be.

“thank you,” you murmured softly when the train slowed at your stop.

he gave a small nod, nothing more, and you slipped out with the crowd. you glanced back once, but the doors were already closing, and he was gone.

weeks passed. the memory faded into something you thought of only when trains swayed too hard.

what you didn’t know was that the man from the train hadn’t forgotten you at all.

that morning had been unusual for him. france celestine ponchè, ceo of one of the country’s most powerful companies, had decided he was tired of routine — tired of the black cars, the stiff bodyguards, the endless structure of his days. he wanted to feel ordinary again, even if just for an hour. so he left the car behind and stepped onto a crowded train, something he hadn’t done in years.

he never expected to find you there.

a girl with eyes that caught light, lips that curved shyly when you smiled at him, hands small against his arm. you were gone before he could even think of asking your name, swallowed by the crowd as quickly as you appeared.

and yet, you stayed with him.

days later, he would find himself distracted in meetings, catching himself searching faces in lobbies, streets, even other train rides when he dared take them again. but what sense did it make? he had no name, no detail, nothing but a face he couldn’t forget.

then came the interview.

you walked nervously into the towering building, resume clutched tight, heart racing as the secretary guided you into a polished office.

the door opened, and there he was.

the man from the train. only this time, not just a stranger in a crisp shirt — this time, the very name on the company’s walls, the one everyone whispered about in awe. france celestine ponchè.

your breath hitched. his eyes flickered. recognition sparked, sharp and undeniable.

he schooled his features into calm professionalism, but inside, his heart stuttered the way it hadn’t in years. it was her. the girl from the train. the smile he couldn’t forget.

“good morning,” his voice was smooth, steady, though his chest tightened. “I’m france ponchè. please, sit.”

your legs obeyed before your brain did, heart pounding as he glanced at your resume, then back to your face.

“you look familiar,” he said finally, words light but his gaze searching.

you cleared your throat, fiddling with your folder. “I… maybe? I take the train sometimes.”

he smiled faintly at that, a private kind of smile, the one only you would understand. The meeting start smoothly by the time the meeting is about to end, your answers were done, your papers stacked neatly in his hands. still, france didn’t close the folder right away. instead, he studied you for a moment, not in the way professors did when grading, but like he was searching for something familiar.

“strange,” he murmured, almost to himself, then looked up at you. “I didn’t think I’d see you again.”

your breath caught. “pardon?”

he leaned back in his chair, fingers brushing the edge of the folder, casual but not careless. “the train,” he said simply, like the memory needed no explanation. “you thanked me and disappeared before I could ask your name. it stayed with me.”

your lips parted, but no words came.

he gave the faintest smile, a genuine smile. “I’m kinda sad you didn’t give me a thank you peck on the cheeks” he tease.