The train was rumbling on its merry way, Dahlia had her face pressed against the window staring unseeingly at the changing scenary change outside. Her head was miles away– she was trying to figure out if the rhythm of the train was a polka or a bourée deux temps. The music from the night before was still trilling in her ears and the swing of the train seemed to sing along with it. After a taste of her first Mazurka Klandestina, Dahlia was hooked! She had discovered, to her delight, that from autumn onwards there was one almost every month and catching rides with her friends or booking trains in advance ensured that her wallet didn’t bear the brunt of her new-found wanderlust. She had gotten into the habit of spending the day after a Klandestina exploring the city; sometimes she was joined by David or some other friend or two but this time she was alone.

There were still two more stops to go before she needed to get off but she was starting to feel slightly restless, so she decided to go wait by the door. As she neared the exit, she noticed a vaguely familiar face; it looked like she had been recognized as well. “Hey! Hi! Didn’t we meet last night?” he queried, “Ah yes! Riccardo, right?” she replied relieved that she could remember his name “And your are… Dahlia, no? “Yes! Thanks for the dance yesterday!” she said a little cheekily. “You’re welcome”, he replied winking and giving a short bow. “We really should do it again sometime” he continued, “Yes, that would be lovely” she acknowledged. He paused a second, offered his hand and asked “What about right now?”, “What?! Here?!” she exclaimed, “on the train?!” “Yeah! Why not?” “Well…” she started not really sure how to respond “we don’t have any music.” “Yes we do” he retorted and took out his cellphone from his pocket and two tiny speakers from his backpack. “So? What do you say?”

She hesistated, slightly awkward about dancing in such a public place but then she reasoned that all the squares she had danced in had been in the open as well. “Okay. What should we dance?” she asked now excited. “How about a mazurka?” he suggested scrolling through his playlist, “I think I have found the perfect one!” he announced, and pressed play. Dahlia walked into his arms and started to follow his lead, at first she was a little self-conscious but soon she closed her eyes and moved to the familiar strains of music; she felt transported and the world around her melted away.

The music slowly faded to a close but the two dancers remained in an embrace for a little while longer prolonging the enchantment of the moment. The ding-dong over the train speakers broke the spell. “Thank you!” she whispered and was then surprised to hear her station being announced. “Oh! I didn’t realise that we had already passed a station! I get off at the next stop!” a little flustered to realise that she had been so lost in the dance. “Well then” says Riccardo, “I shall bid you farewell till our next mazurka!” Dahlia laughs at his antics, “Thank you Ricky! This has been lovely.” The train screeches to a halt and Dahlia jumps off, waving goodbye to him; she stays on the platform until the train leaves, remaining there till it is just a speck in the horizon hoping to somehow stretch out this unexpectedly lovely interlude.