Spencer found himself on a train headed to Vienna, a brief stop on his winding route back to Virginia. Flights from Madrid to America were too expensive, and the next affordable option was still a week away. Vienna offered a quicker connection, and Spencer decided the detour was worth the inconvenience.

He sat near the window, a well-worn book in his hands, his glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose. The soft hum of the train and the rhythmic clatter of wheels on rails calmed him, but it was interrupted by the raised voices of a German couple arguing a few seats away. Spencer understood their words perfectly—though he wished he didn’t. He sighed, his thoughts drifting between the pages of his book and the scenery rushing past outside, his lips moving silently as he worked through some internal monologue.

The sound of a bag being hoisted onto the luggage rack broke his focus. A young woman, seemingly relocating to escape the commotion, settled into the lounge seat across from his. Spencer glanced at her briefly—a flicker of curiosity he couldn’t quite suppress—before returning his gaze to the window. He tapped his fingers against the metal railing.

The argument escalated, and the woman stormed off, hurling curses in German as her husband chased after her. Spencer’s gaze wandered back to the girl, who was now absorbed in her book. Clearing his throat, he decided to speak—though the words felt awkward even as they formed.

“Do you know what they were saying?” he asked, his tone almost self-deprecating. “I’m just learning German, but I’m terrible at it.” It wasn’t true—Spencer understood German fluently, every nuance and phrase. But he needed something to say—a way to bridge the gap between them. Small talk wasn’t his strength—he’d learnt to mask his brilliance with clumsy humility when meeting new people.

She looked up confused, and he realized his mistake. “Oh… sorry. Do you speak English?” he added quickly, feeling himself redden. Great, Spencer. Brilliant opening line. Truly.