Whispers on the Tokyo Express

 

The rhythmic clatter of the train tracks was barely noticeable beneath the hum of soft jazz playing through the dining car’s speakers. Outside the large window, the sun dipped low, painting the Tokyo skyline in hues of amber and crimson.

Sitting across from each other in a plush booth, Kenji and Ayaka shared a quiet, comfortable moment. Both dressed in business suits, they looked the part of two professionals on a late commute—but their lingering glances and the way Ayaka toyed with the stem of her wine glass suggested otherwise.

“This feels surreal,” Kenji murmured, resting his chin on his hand as he gazed at her. “Like a scene from an old movie.”

Ayaka smiled, her dark eyes sparkling in the golden light. “It does,” she said, gently swirling the deep red liquid in her glass. “Maybe because we’ve never done this before—dinner on a train, just the two of us.”

Kenji exhaled softly, letting his fingers trace the rim of his coffee cup. “It’s different from the office, huh?”

She let out a quiet chuckle. “Very.”

For years, they had been colleagues—partners in long meetings, last-minute presentations, and late nights in the company break room. Their dynamic had always been professional, with only fleeting moments of warmth exchanged between hurried deadlines. Yet tonight, as the train glided through the outskirts of Tokyo, the weight of unspoken words filled the space between them.

Ayaka set her glass down and met Kenji’s gaze. “Do you regret it?”

Kenji blinked. “Regret what?”

She hesitated before speaking. “Accepting that transfer to Osaka.”

The air between them grew still. Kenji had been offered the promotion weeks ago, and by this time next month, he would no longer be in Tokyo. No longer working alongside Ayaka.

He sighed, looking down at his plate before finally answering. “I don’t know. It’s a great opportunity, but…” His voice trailed off as he looked back at her, the words caught in his throat.

Ayaka bit her lip and nodded. “I see.”

The train swayed gently as it crossed a bridge, the lights of the city reflecting on the river below.

“I wanted to tell you something before I leave,” Kenji said, his voice quieter now.

Ayaka’s fingers tightened around her napkin. “Go on.”

He hesitated, then leaned slightly forward, his tone earnest. “If I stay… it wouldn’t be because of the job.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The train carried them forward, the cityscape blurring past like fleeting time. Then, slowly, Ayaka reached across the table, her fingers brushing lightly against his.

“Then maybe,” she whispered, “you shouldn’t go.”