Shy hello at his gate. His face more freckled. Her face unchanged. A kiss. A smile. Red wine in large glasses. A tour of his house and a gift from Germany. Paintings, and art, and culture, and beautiful things. Chopsticks and plastic containers. A movie they can't remember, and two more never even watched. Dessert. One bowl. Two spoons. Shoes, then shirts, then pants, then...

Melbourne Train Girl waited for after dinner with restless impatience; for that was when the Short Boy had said he would call. Once she had eaten she walked one lap of her house and decided she would not let the waiting game get the better of her. She cleaned her room. Then she vaccuumed. And after that she rearranged her shoes in her wardrobe.

It was after she had given up on tidying, and sat down with her guitar and her sister for a sing-a-long that the sound of her phone violently stirred the butterflies inside her.

His voice was just as she remembered it. And really, how could she ever have thought to have forgotten it? He had read every one of her emails - even the parts about finding mushrooms growing in her lounge room and about her day trip to the country.

Melbourne Train Girl stood outside in the middle of the road, talking to him while the cold of the damp ground seeped rapidly through her socks and numbed her toes. He asked if she were free the next night, which of course she was. She had made no plans for this weekend hoping that he would want to see her at least one of the days. It was settled. They would meet the next night for a meal or a coffee. Melbourne Train Girl said goodbye and danced back into her house where her sister was waiting with an affectionate head shake and a smile.

It was then that Melbourne Train Girl realised under her excitement was a tiny fear. He had told her his parents were leaving the next morning to take some visiting relatives on a weekend away, and that his sister was deserting him as well. Before he left, Melbourne Train Girl had spent their last few evenings together with a small silent hope he would invite her back to his house, but now that it was much more likely, the prospect scared her just a little more than it should have. It made her nervous and anxious, even more so that she was very certain his intentions were pure. There was no rational explaination for these feelings. Except, perhaps, simply that such a possibility was arisen on only their very first meeting after five weeks parted.

Melbourne Train Girl is almost certain, however, that the moment she sees his face she will accept any invitation that extends her time with him, and that the moment he kisses her she will be very thankful indeed at the promise of an empty house.

She stood waiting for the train that was already seven minutes late and smiled.

The train arrived another three minutes later, its windows clouded with fog and raindrops, and still she smiled.

She walked from the station in the cold, grey rain and she smiled.

The puddles that dampened her canvas shoes soaked through to her socks too but she still smiled.

She lost a second button from her jacket some time around morning tea and still she was smiling.

She took her sunglasses from her bag to discover an arm had fallen off and simply smiled.

Even when she passed a large pile of horse droppings on the tram tracks as she crossed the road she smiled.

She walked through the market between the rows of vibrant vegetables and fragrant preserves and grinned from ear to ear while her stomach growled.

She purchased a tub of honey that she really couldn't afford but that she had developed a taste for and smiled.

And then all the way home on the train she sat doing nothing but looking out of the window, smiling at the grey trunks and evergreen leaves as they passed by.

The Short Boy is home and he is calling Melbourne Train Girl tonight.