I'm staring out the window, watching the scenery as it whizzes past the window. The green of the trees and the blue of the sky move by so rapidly, it's all a blur of colour.

I can't help but steal another glance at the young woman sitting across from me.

I've been doing so periodically for the past quarter hour. Something about the gold of her hair as it flutters loose from her ponytail entrances me, and I find myself being drawn to it.

This time though, to my surprise, she's looking right at me, her gray eyes flashing with something I can't recognise.

I flush red and turn away, but in my periphery, I notice her lips twitch downwards into the ghost of a frown. I clear my throat and push my glasses back up my nose, trying to look at anything but her.

"You don't have to look so awkward, you know?"

My gaze snaps up to hers, and she sighs as if the words are physically draining her. "I'm Mallory."

I hesitate before answering. "I'm Thomas. I'm sorry about... That."

"What, the staring?" She attempts a smile, but it's strangely hollow. Like a facade she's plastered onto her face."I don't actually mind. I'm actually kind of relieved."

I raise a brow. "Relieved?"

Her smile freezes in place for a second before she laughs breezily. The sound is too shrill to be real, too empty and robotic and something is wrong.

"I meant flattered, of course. To have caught your attention."

I duck my head, my cheeks still warm from embarrassment at being caught. "Apologies regardless, my lady. I hope you don't think me strange for staring. You're just very... intriguing."

She leans forward, brushing her haphazardly tied hair over her shoulder. "Intriguing?"

I give her a nervous sort of lopsided smile. "Well, you do keep checking the time every couple minutes. I know the journey's boring, but this seems excessive."

She glances down at her phone which she's left beside her on the seat. True to my observation, her finger freezes in the motion of unlocking it yet again.

"Oh, that." She opens her mouth to say something, but then seems to think better of it. "Well, I get bored pretty easily, and the train doesn't exactly offer much in terms of entertainment. I also have somewhere to be in a little bit, so there's that."

"An appointment? On a train?"

"Yeah," she bites her lip. "I'm meeting a... A friend."

I lean back to recline into my seat, settling into the warm fabric of the cushioning. "Well, what do you say we do something to pass the time while we wait? I dare say it'll be more fun than just waiting around."

"I-" she stammers. "I really shouldn't."

My heart sinks a little, but I don't let it show, instead holding my hands up in a placating gesture. "No pressure, of course. It's completely up to you."

She hesitates for another beat, tucking a strand of her behind her ear. She looks down at her phone again, and I can see her wring her hands together anxiously.

"All right," she says finally. "But not for too long, yeah?"

"I promise," I say, holding out my pinkie finger. When she looks at it questioningly, I prompt, "A pinkie promise."

Her brows furrow. "What's that?"

I gasp dramatically and put a hand to my heart. "You don't know what a pinkie promise is? It's the most sacred of holy vows! An oath that can never be broken."

She cocks her head. "I was under the impression it was more childish."

I shake my head gravely, trying to keep up my solemn face. "Oh no, my lady. A pinkie promise is much more than that. It means that you'll strive to uphold your promise no matter what."

She looks down at her hands bunched into fists in her lap. The material of her wool skirt is wrinkled from where she held it. She unclenches her fists and slowly reaches a hand out to mimic the gesture I'm making with my own. I twine my finger around hers and marvel at how warm her hands are even in the cool air conditioning of the train.

"I, Thomas Armstrong, do solemnly swear to uphold my promise," I struggle to come up with more official sounding words while keeping a straight face. I notice Mallory's lips twitch at my words, but then she seems to remember something, and retreats back behind a veil of sorrow. "Through sickness and health, through good times and bad." I look straight into her eyes. "Amen?"

She holds my gaze for a moment longer before her body betrays her and she cracks the tiniest of smiles. I can't help but burst out laughing, both with amusement as well as pride to have managed a speck of joy out of her.

"Was that a promise or a wedding vow?" she asks after I've managed to compose myself.

"Either-or," I reply coolly. "They both work for me."

She smiles again, though this time it's haunted by a sense of wistful remembrance. "I missed you," she says after a moment's pause.

"Missed me? I didn't go anywhere."

She looks away, and suddenly her lovely heart shaped face turns forlorn. I watch as the smile slips off her face completely, and I'm overcome with a feeling of despair.

The seconds as they go past are agonising.

"Are you... Are you alright?" I ask eventually. When she doesn't answer, I hurry to correct myself. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have been so intrusive. You don't have to answer that."

She sighs, and rubs her hands along her arms. "I'm fine," she says, though the look in her eyes very clearly states otherwise. She mumbles something else under her breath, so soft I nearly miss it.

"I don't have a choice but to be."

I purse my lips as I desperately try to think of what I can do to make her feel better. But it's as if all the jokes and wit I'd previously possessed have suddenly been blown out of my mind.

"Let's play a game."

Mallory's grey eyes turn to me. "What?"

"A game. It's not like we're getting any younger sitting here. We may as well."

She sighs again. "I'm not exactly in the mood for games."

"No, no, you'll like this one. It's called 'secrets'."

Her lips purse. "It wouldn't happen to be about the secret double lives we live when we're not just strangers on trains, would it?"

"How oddly specific," I say, quirking an eyebrow. "But no, not exactly. We trade secrets. Real ones. The trick is that since we'll likely never see each other again after today, there's no need to worry about what we say. Because we have no reason to hold it against each other, you know?"

"But what if... What if it's something really embarrassing?"

"That's a rule. No judgement, no matter what the secret is."

I see her hesitate in the way she worries her lip between her teeth. "Come on," I say. "It'll be fun. A welcome distraction."

She hesitates, but finally relents. "Okay."

I grin and clap my hands together excitedly. She smiles at my antics, but again, it takes on an edge of that enigmatic sadness. Again, before I can comment, it disappears.

"How about you start? Just so I can see how this works."

I nod. "Well, my name is Thomas Armstrong and I live in Adelaide, Brighton."

"That's hardly a secret."

"Did you know it before?"

She rolls her eyes. "No, but that doesn't mean anything. It's something everyone else in your life knows, isn't it?"

"It still counts!" I protest.

"Either you play properly or you don't play at all."

I groan at her stubbornness. "Fine." I pretend to think for a while, though I'd thought of mine when I first suggested the game. "I...have a huge sweet tooth. Like, you have no idea how bad it is. I stash chocolate in my bedside drawer and gorge myself on it when everyone's asleep."

Her lips part in surprise. "You don't look the type. However do you stay so fit?"

I shrug. "Fast metabolism, I guess. Unfortunately for me though, that also means my mom's always shoving food down my throat."

"My mom was like that too. At least, she was before she left."

I wince. "I'm sorry."

She waves it off like it's something she got over a long time ago. "It's not like I can blame her for leaving dad. He's a total workaholic. Stayed out late with every woman except mom and never seems to have time to spend with his family." She sighs. "Sometimes I wish I could just leave too. I know it's horrible and selfish, but I do."

I'm struck speechless for a second.

"It's not horrible or selfish to think about yourself, you know?" I say after a moment's pause. "Your happiness is just as important as anyone else's. And if leaving means you're escaping a horrible situation, you should just do it."

She stills, trying to absorb the essence of my words. She sucks in a breath as she turns them over in her mind, considering, and then looses it as she looks up at me again. Her shoulders slump, but she doesn't look as sad as she did before.

Before was much worse. As if the entire weight of the world was pressing down on her shoulders.

She looks almost... relieved.

"You're- you're right. I should... When all this is over, I'll go talk to him. Tell him I'm getting my own place. The great Axel Vietta can just deal with that." Her voice rises with determination as she talks, but I can hardly process it with my jaw hanging open in shock.

"Your dad's Axel Vietta?! Vietta as in Vietta and Co?"

She winces as she realises she let that fact slip. I can see her consider fibbing, but eventually she just gives up."Well, yeah. Wish he was half as good a dad as he is a businessman."

I'm still gaping at her. "You're practically a celebrity. Oh my god, I'm talking to the heir of the Vietta company!"

She huffs at my enthusiasm and gives me a halfhearted glare. "I thought you said no judgement!"

"That was before you mentioned your dad's the one who built the entire Vietta franchise from scratch!"

She fiddles with the hem of her sweater with an embarrassed smile. "Looks like someone's a fan."

I almost swoon. "I've always wanted to work in your dad's company. You could say it's my dream job."

She gives me a pinprick of a smile. "If you'd like, I'd be happy to put in a good word for you. I'm sure dad would hire you if he knew what a charmer you are."

My eyes nearly pop out of their sockets at her offer. "You'd do that?"

"Of course I would. It doesn't cost me anything to help."

It's so tempting. To let her open a door to my dream for me. This is what I've always wanted.

So I smile.

"Thank you. It means a lot that you'd be willing to do something like that for me. But I'm afraid I must decline."

I can feel the heavy weight of her stare on me, so I look away, dregs of contentment still playing on my lips.

"It's not that I don't want to take you up on your offer. It's just that... If I'm going to get an opportunity like this, I'd want it to be because of my own merit, not just because I was fortunate enough to run into a lovely young woman who was willing to give me a chance."

She's staring at me like I'm a whole new person. The storm clouds in her eyes swirl with emotion, and she looks...

Well, she looks proud. And for that one instant, I feel like maybe I'm not so bad a guy after all.

Suddenly, Mallory's entire face goes pallid with alarm. Her eyes widen as her hands scramble to grab her phone. When she finally gets her shaking hands on it, she lets out a desolate cry and charges toward the door.

"What's wrong?" I ask, standing. "Mallory what happened?"

"Don't you hear it Thomas? It's eleven forty-nine!" she chokes out as she struggles with the door.

My brows furrow as I try to puzzle out what she's talking about. But then, as if on command, I hear a sound coming from somewhere far away.

Ticking.

"Oh my god, how could I have let this-" she cuts herself off as she fiddles with the handle. But her hands are shaking so bad, she falters every time.

"Look, I'm sure it isn't a big deal if you're a few minutes late. Your friend will understand."

"No, he won't!" she screams wrenching the door open.

She makes to stumble out, but someone seems to be blocking her. When I crane my head to look over, I notice a guard standing just outside the compartment.

"Excuse me, ma'am? I'm going to have to ask you to stay inside."

"What? No! No, I have to go! I need to stop him or he'll-"

He looks at her sharply. "Or he'll what?"

She shakes her head desperately and  tries to move past him, but to no avail. "Please. You don't- you don't understand. I have to go. I messed up before, so many times, and I have to make things right."

He still regards her with some suspicion. "I assure you, we're trying our best to get to the bottom of the sound. I'm certain it's no reason to panic. We can't have people running around and potentially causing a stampede. There's no need for you to worry, I promise"

"But there is!" Mallory bursts out all of a sudden. Her face crumples and I take a step towards her. Whether to try and comfort her, or to persuade the guard into letting her go, I'm not sure.

The guard's features soften. "Ma'am, if you know anything that might help, anything at all, you can tell me."

"I can't. I was supposed to stop him but I forgot, and now-" Mallory looks up, her face the very portrait of despair. "I'm so sorry. I should've done something. This is all my mess, and if I wasn't so... so stupid I could've done something."

I take another step. And then another, and an another, until I'm close enough to hesitantly wrap my arms around her shoulders.

"Mallory," I whisper. "Whatever's going on, I'm sure you did your best. But if you know something, you should tell them."

"It was my responsibility," she cries into my shirt. "And I blew it. Again."

"Hey," I say, pulling back to look into her eyes. And there's so much guilt and self loathing swirling amongst them, I can feel my heart break a little for her. "It's not your fault."

She sucks in a breath before letting her head hand forward. "There's a bomb," she whispers, so faint it's hardly audible. "A man in first class. Stocky build, probably a businessman."

The guard nods briskly, suddenly all business. He pulls his walkie talkie out of his belt and talks into it. "Send all authorised personnel to first class. We may have a potentially dangerous suicide bomber on board. I repeat-"

He starts to stalk off, but Mallory lunges forward to grab his sleeve. "Please be careful," she says softly.

He looks down at her and gives her a kind smile. "You did good," he says, sprinting away.

After a second's pause, she starts to slip out the door too, but I catch her arm before she can.

"Where are you going?"

She shakes her head, one arm wiping at her tears furiously. "I have to go do something. I can't just sit here."

I frown. "You heard him. We're not supposed to go outside."

She sighs again. "You don't understand. You don't understand anything."

"So then tell me. I want to understand. I want to help."

Her lips tremble before she presses them together. "You won't believe me."

"You don't know that."

"I do, Thomas," she cries. "I told you before and you didn't believe me then, just like you won't believe me now."

"When? We've never met before, have we?"

A few stray tears stream down her face and she hurries to brush them away. "This is my responsibility. I didn't ask for it, but it's up to me anyway."

"It's alright to ask for help, you know? You don't have to do this all on your own."

"I tried to ask for help. I asked it from you but you- you didn't-" Her voice sounds almost garbled now, as if she's speaking underwater.

I don't know what to say to that. "I'm sorry. Whatever I did, whether I knew it or not, I hurt you. And I'm sorry about that."

Her glistening, tear filled eyes meet mine. "It's not your fault," she says. "But I failed. And now it's all over."

"Hey, stop talking like that. You told the guard, didn't you? They'll stop it. They have to."

She shakes her head sadly, but gives into my tugging her arm. She collapses against me and her shoulders start to shake. "Why me? Why did it have to be me?"

I want to ask her. I want to ask her what it is that's gotten her so shaken up. But clearly she doesn't want to talk about it, and if I hurt her in the past, there's no guarantee I won't do it again.

I clench one hand into a fist at my side.

I won't hurt her again. I swear it to myself.

A sharp sound fills the air. Fills my ears till they feel like they're about to burst, and fill my lungs till I can barely breathe. Mallory tightens her grip around me and sobs again. "It's too late. I'm sorry."

"Is there anything I can do? Anything at all?"

She doesn't say anything, and I content myself with shutting my eyes and leaning my chin against her head. But then suddenly she gasps into my chest and wrenches herself from my grasp. She practically throws herself to the small purse on her seat balanced in her seat and rummages inside.

She stumbles back towards me as the keening sound becomes so pitchy, it's unbearable.

She holds something out to me. A pen.

"I need you to write something for me. Across your arm."

I silently nod and uncap the pen with my teeth. "What do I write?"

The screeching has finally faded into a dull roar. Even as we speak, the roaring gets louder, decibel by decibel.

I place the tip of the pen against my forearm and look at her expectantly. Her eyes are still dull. Dull and sad and hopeless. But something sparks deep within them, so far amidst the murky pewter depths, I half think I'm imagining it.

"Don't forget Mallory Vietta."

And even as the roar approaches us in the form of waves of heat and red and death, I'm still scrawling. I don't know why or what the point is, but I do it because she asks me to.

I do it, because part of me hopes this isn't the end.

The train explodes.

But I swear to myself I won't forget.