They ran too late, the train pulled free,
A shrug, a sigh… what will be, will be.
But fate, that rogue with playful grin,
Let two lost glances draw them in.

A smile raised like morning light,
He said, “Coffee then?”… not quite polite.
She laughed, “Why not?”… and so began
A tale not written, yet surely planned.

Steam curled from cups, warm hands near,
An hour passed, the world unclear.
But words flowed soft, like rivers bend,
Two strangers found a common end.

Same train, same track, same destination,
Three hours more of conversation.
Stories shared, and laughter spun,
As if the journey had just begun.

Arrival came, the moment split,
A gentle kiss, no need to quit.
Numbers passed with trembling grace,
Hope tucked inside a folded space.

Perhaps that train they missed was fate,
A pause, a chance to recalibrate.
For sometimes love, not loud or grand,
Begins with coffee, and a hand.

Paul Baldry