Porto Campanhã
Sarah stood under the softly vaulted ceiling of the main hall of Porto Campanhã. The walls were pale plaster framed by granite pilasters. Rounded-top windows let in a diffused morning light.
Sarah walked up to the counter as the person ahead of her walked off. The ticket hall echoed with announcements.
The clerk, a woman in her forties and a Portuguese accent, looked up.
“Bom dia. Destination?”
“Two tickets for the Nocturne Express,” Sarah said, pulling her wallet free. “To St. Petersburg.”
The clerk’s fingers hovered above the keyboard. “One moment.”
She typed a few lines, brows lifting slightly as the reservation loaded.
“Twin cabin, correct?” The woman asked.
“Yes.”
The clerk gave a confirming hum. “Your companion was here a few minutes ago. He already paid his portion and confirmed identity.”
Sarah blinked. “Oh—he was?”
“Yes, yes.” The clerk turned the monitor slightly, pointing at the screen. “look, car eight.”
Sarah nodded and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, mentally scanning the crowd behind her.
The clerk resumed typing. “Destination: Madrid, Barcelona, La-Tour-de-Carol, Munich, Warsaw… final stop St. Petersburg. Everything correct?”
“Yeah,” Sarah said, clearing her throat. “That’s the one.”
“Good. Now payment,” the clerk said, sliding the card reader forward. “Nine hundred. For your part.”
Sarah inserted her card, entering the PIN before she let herself think too hard about the number.
The reader flashed green.
“Approved,” the clerk said, printing and tearing two long ticket slips. She slid them under the glass with a small receipt. “Platform One. Boarding begins twenty minutes before departure. Follow the blue signs down to the underpass.”
“Thank you,” Sarah said.
“Boa viagem.” (“Have a good trip.”)
Damian adjusted the strap of his duffel and dragged his small green suitcase as he walked through the tiled underpass beneath the tracks of Porto Campanhã. The overhead electronic signs glowed in blues and whites, directing him to Platform 4 among the station’s network of tracks.
His black zip-up hung open, revealing his plain white tee underneath, while his baggy dark brown trousers brushed over the top of his white Jordans. The station air carried its usual blend of cold stone, cleaning solution, and something vaguely metallic.
His eyes drifted toward a small kiosk near the wall—a line of commuters waiting for espresso shots and sugary pastries.
He considered it for half a second, then dismissed it just as fast.
He pulled his phone from his jacket pocket and checked the screen.
7:54
“She should be here somewhere,” he muttered under his breath. If she had already picked up the tickets, she’d be somewhere on Platform Four.
He scanned the crowd.
Two kids were chasing each other near a bench, weaving between luggage and nearly tripping a businessman who barked something in Portuguese. A few tourists studied a fold-out map. A couple pondered over what to buy from a vending machine.
Damian stepped forward, weaving through people.
He turned to avoid a cluster of students and walked straight into the path of an older man with a backpack.
“Sorry,” he said, raising a hand.
The man nodded, muttered something, and moved on.
Damian exhaled, turned—
And froze for half a second.
Near the middle of the platform, sitting casually on her blue hard-shell luggage, was Sarah.
The sun hat was the first thing he noticed: white, neat, enough to shade her face. Beneath it, her hair fell cleanly behind her shoulders.
Her textured white sundress stopped just below her knees, swaying faintly with each passing second. Black flat shoes, hovering over the tiles.
She held a drink cup in one hand. She looked relaxed, with her eyes darting across the station.
Before anything else could take shape, Sarah’s head lifted. She spotted him instantly and raised a hand in a small wave.
Damian straightened his back and headed toward her.
“Hey,”
Sarah tilted her head slightly, the rim of her hat casting a faint shadow over her eyes. “Hi. Sorry, am I late?”
Damian glanced up at the station’s towering clock, then back at the array of boarding points along Platform 4. “No… I don’t think so.” he answered. His gaze settled on her again, softer this time.
“Right, right,” she said, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear.
Damian took a moment to look at her properly. Her outfit was simple, elegant but also quite casual. He noticed the small details: a few rings on her fingers, a hairband on the right wrist and a thin bracelet on the left. He let his gaze linger for a beat too long.
Sarah caught it. “What? Is it too much?”
“No, no.” he said quickly, shaking his head. “It’s good.”
“I figured,” she said, smiling faintly, “i’d wear something light and simple, you know?”
“Makes sense, yep.” Damian said, then glanced down at his own outfit, self-conscious. “Maybe I… wore a little too much.”
Sarah’s eyes drifted to him, noting the shirt and the zip-up, the dark brown baggy trousers, and the sneakers. “No… maybe?” she said with a half laugh.
A voice over the PA cut through the platform’s chatter, first in Portuguese, then in English: “All passengers boarding Trans-Europa Express, please head to Platform 4. The train will arrive shortly. Take all your belongings, thank you.”
A low hum started far off, growing steadily louder. The Nocturne Express appeared at the far end of Platform 3, a long, sleek stretch of dark blue with gold accents glinting against the morning light. Its carriages were massive.
The train slowed, the hum deepening into a subtle vibration through the platform. A few soft clicks and whirrs came from the doors and mechanisms. People began to gather, moving toward the train in orderly clusters, luggage rolling behind them.
Sarah’s eyes widened. She reached for her blue hard-shell luggage, patting down the hem of her dress
“Nice ride.” Damian said, blowing a whistle.
He let his eyes follow the sleek sides of the train. He noticed the soft reflections on the metal, the subtle glow of interior lights behind tinted windows, and the steady flow of passengers approaching.
Sarah nudged him, holding up her ticket. “You’ve got yours, right?”
Damian pulled his own from his pocket. “Yep,” he said, tapping it briefly before showing it to her.
A clear, automated voice announced in Portuguese, followed immediately by English:
“All passengers for the Nocturne Express, boarding has now begun on Platforms One and Three. Please keep your belongings with you at all times.”
The train doors slid open with a soft electronic hiss, and the cool blast of air-conditioning met them almost immediately. The contrast from the warm platform made them both flinch slightly, then relax.
A few hostesses in crisp uniforms stepped forward, smiles polite and professional. They spoke in varying accents—some more British, some slightly continental.
“Tickets, please,” one said, holding out her hand.
Damian handed his over, Sarah following suit. She scanned their tickets briefly, nodding.
“Yes, the twin cabin car is up ahead,” The hostess said, pointing to her left. “Car eight, to your right.”
“Thank you,” Sarah said.
“Thanks,” Damian added, slipping the tickets back into his pocket.
They walked into the general travel car first.
The general travel car had a narrow aisle with tight rows, bags shoved overhead. Kids half-asleep on their parents’ shoulders.
A few families scattered through the carriage along with couple of individuals sitting alone, staring out the window or doing nothing in particular.
They kept moving.
At the entrance to the lounge car, another attendant stood waiting. He asked for their premium tickets, checked them carefully, then stepped aside and let them through.
The difference was immediate.
The floor was carpeted in dark red as their footsteps softened. To the right was a Foosball Table, still looking new, with chairs, sofas, and a few beanbags scattered around it.
The wide, glass walls of the car brought station light to the interior, like a vista-dome, though the roof remained solid overhead.
The two walked further in.
Further ahead, a piano stood on the right. Beyond it were more sofas and seating areas. A family of four sat together, talking quietly. An old man sat alone nearby, reading, fully absorbed. By the windows, an elderly couple leaned toward each other, following the scenery outside.
As they passed, Sarah made brief eye contact with a few people.
Her attention caught on the piano halfway through the car. Damian barely noticed it—he was watching the pool table to his left, mentally counting the balls.
By the time the pair reached the end of the carriage, Damian noticed the bookshelf built into the wall. He made a mental note to come back to it later and kept walking.
The dining car.
Warm oil, spices, something already cooking on the stove. The smell carried through the car.
Tables were lined up along the left side of the carriage. The central kitchen sat just beyond them, open and fully visible. The cooks were in motion, their work on display. Hands moving quickly. Surfaces being wiped. Final checks before service began.
There weren’t any passengers in this car yet. Mostly staff. Kitchen workers going over details one last time.
Damian slowed without realizing it. The smell alone was enough to pull his attention. His eyes drifted between the kitchen and the menu board.
Sarah barely reacted to the food. Instead, she looked past the tables, toward the glass. One full side of the carriage opened to the view outside, the potential scenery cycling through her mind.
“What a view it’s going to be, right?” She turned around.
Damian was staring at the menu.
She sighed, faintly disappointed, and grabbed the back of his jacket, pulling him along.
“Did you not eat yet?”
“No,” Damian said quietly, almost pathetic.
“We’ll come back once we’re in our room.” she said, rolling her eyes as a staff member approached and gestured them forward.
The bar car.
The lighting dropped immediately.
Lamps sat high along the walls, casting a low orange glow that barely reached the floor.
The bar was built into the lower left wall, its serving area freshly wiped clean, bottles dimly lit behind glass. On the opposite side, to their right, a tall standing table sat unused.
Damian had noticed that the windows had changed. The longer ceiling to floor ones were replaced with large cutouts in the wall, framed and partially hidden by thick curtains pulled halfway shut.
Further in, A young woman sat at the bar. Blonde hair, neat, with pearly white earrings that caught the light when she shifted. A small stack of paperback books rested beside her bag with a brown leather laptop case.
She seemed to be waiting for a drink, fingers idly tapping the counter. She glanced up as they passed, met their eyes briefly, then returned to whatever she had been doing.
A more sophisticated man in his fifties stood alone by the window at the far end of the carriage. A drink in one hand. Shirt tucked in, belt visible, his suit jacket draped over his left arm. Thin glasses sat low on his nose.
He didn’t pay attention to the two of them as he stared contemplatively into the panoramic window.
They continued walking, passing through the carriage and toward the regular cabins at the end.
The Regular Cabins.
The layout tightened again. A single narrow path ran down the center of the carriage, with cabins lined on both sides. Doors closed, some with lights on inside.
Noise leaked through the walls. Low mumbling. Metal clinking. The soft thud of bags being shifted around.
Sarah slowed slightly.
“These aren’t ours, right?” she muttered.
Their tickets didn’t match the room numbers plated on top of the doors.
The pair continued down the aisle.
By the end of the carriage, the passage widened just enough to show the facilities. A male bathroom on one side. A female bathroom on the other. Beyond them, the exit to the next car.
The Twin Cabin.
The space opened up slightly. The path bent to the left, wider than before, giving them room to slow down. Along the wall, the windows stretched long and rectangular, starting around chest height and running forward in clean lines. The outside light filtered in softly, less exposed than before.
To the right were the cabins.
Twin rooms. Seemingly four of them, set evenly along the corridor.
Damian checked the ticket again.
“Third cabin, so… there.”
They walked up to it.
Beside the door was a card reader, a narrow slot built into the panel. Damian slid the card in. There was a quiet click, followed by a soft mechanical release. The door unlocked and eased open.