Walls, Part 2

Lila and Elliott are still on that train from Brighton to East Croydon.

A little while ago, I wrote a short fiction piece called Walls inspired by the song of the same name, by Kaleem Taylor. It’s about a chance meet between two strangers on a train… some may say fated. If you haven’t read Part 1, read it below, and then come back.

Walls

Read it? Perfect. Here’s Part 2.

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“So Elliott… what have you got for me?” I ask, in a very uncharacteristically flirtatious way.

“Ooh, no pressure then!” Elliott grins, swiping up to unlock his phone.

“None at all,” I smile back, leaning in ever so slightly to peek at his Spotify screen.

“It depends on the kind of vibe you’re looking for.” He was now scrolling intently through his library of playlists, clearly eager to impress.

“Surprise me”

After a few more moments of phone scrolling, he hands me his right AirPod once more. “Alright. I’m warning you though — you might think I’m a bit weird after this one,”

I laugh gently, whilst placing the AirPod in my ear, and wait for him to press play. What begins to play in my ear is not only a song that I haven’t heard in years, but one that I was convinced was only ever known by me.

“Hold on… you know about Sex on Toast?” I removed the AirPod and look at him, eyes wide in disbelief.

“Wait… you do?” He releases the AirPod from his ear too, his eyes just as wide as mine.

“Do I? If Spotify Wrapped was a thing back in 2015, this song would have dominated. I’m obsessed!”

“See, that’s how I know you know your shit. I really did think I was their only UK fan, you know.”

“Yeah, it’s not just you I’m afraid. But also, what a name for a band,”

“I never understood it myself, but those white boys can definitely come to the cookout,”

“Oh, they’re 100% invited. Do you know about their song Oh, Loretta! as well?” I ask.

He draws a long, but sharp breath, the type that tells me he’s thinking the exact same thing that I am. The type that says he’s just as excited by the prospect of meeting someone who cares for music as deeply as he does. “That track is pure funk — and the Sax on that? Sensational.”

We both then place our AirPods back in our ears in unison, moving our heads to song’s beat once more. And when the chorus comes, we both pretend to play the piano’s chords at the same time, before letting out a synchronous melody of laughter.

Once the song ends, I hand him back his AirPod, which he takes gently from me before placing them back in their case. He leans back in his chair slightly, and the look he gives me lingers for a second longer than it needs to, as if he’s deciding whether to say what’s on his mind, or keep it hidden.

“What?” I look back at him, holding his stare just as intently as he holds mine.

I’m never this forward. Or perhaps I am, if I feel safe enough to be. Leaving yourself open to rejection is never fun, and I’ve had my fair share. We’ve only just met, but yet, something about this man makes me feel certain. Sure.

“I just never knew a train journey from Brighton to East Croydon could be this… amazing,”

“Yeah, you’ve made me forget all about my Tilly Doughnut by the way,”

“My bad. Was it worth it though?”

I glance down at the crumpled paper bag sitting on my knees, then back at him.

“Yeah,” I say. “It most definitely was.”