Our First Conversation

That morning, the LRT carriage was crowded with people on their way to work. I stood near the door with music playing in my ears.

At the next station, a woman stepped into the carriage. Her black hair fell to her shoulders, slightly tousled by the wind on the platform.

Caught between the strands was a tiny twig with two dry leaves.

You: Excuse me.

Her: Yes?

You: Sorry, there’s something in your hair.

She immediately reached for her hair in a panic.

Her: Where?

You: On the left. A little farther back.

She tried to find it several times, but the twig stayed exactly where it was.

Her: Is it still there?

You: It is.

Her: Could you help me get it?

You: Of course.

Carefully, I lifted the little twig from her hair.

You: Got it.

She looked at the twig in my hand, then laughed with embarrassment.

Her: No wonder a few people kept looking at me.

Her: I thought it was because I was pretty.

You: Maybe it was both.

She fell silent for a few seconds, then turned toward the window to hide her smile.

Her: Thank you.

You: You’re welcome.

You: I’m Arga.

Her: Nadira.

You: Do you take the LRT from this station every day?

Her: Almost every day. Do you?

You: I do. But I think this is the first time I’ve noticed a passenger wearing a twig in her hair.

Her: It’s the latest accessory.

You: Very unique. Completely natural.

Nadira laughed. The tension between us slowly disappeared.

Her: Are you heading to work?

You: Yes. You?

Her: Same. But I usually read before I get there so I don’t have to think about work too soon.

You: What are you reading?

Nadira held up the little book she had been carrying.

Her: A collection of short stories.

You: Romantic ones?

Her: Some of them.

You: Is there one about two people meeting on a train?

Her: Not yet.

You: Maybe we’re writing that story right now.

Nadira looked at me for a moment, then gave me a small smile.

Her: Are you always like this with people you’ve just met?

You: No.

Her: Then why are you like this with me?

You: Maybe because the twig gave me a chance.

Her: Then you should thank the twig.

You: You’re right.

You: Thank you, twig.

Her: You’re strange.

You: But you’re laughing.

Her: A little.

Our conversation carried on. We talked about work, favorite foods, books, music, and the commute that felt exhausting every morning.

It turned out we were getting off at the same station.

Her: This is my stop.

You: Mine too.

We walked out of the carriage together. After passing through the station gates, Nadira stopped.

Her: I’m going that way.

You: I’m going the other way.

Her: Thank you again for helping me.

You: Anytime.

Nadira started to walk away. I stood there for a few seconds, trying to gather enough courage.

You: Nadira.

She stopped and turned around.

Her: Yes?

You: Will you be taking the LRT at the same time tomorrow?

Her: Maybe.

You: I hope another twig gets caught in your hair.

Her: You don’t need to wait for a twig to talk to me.

You: In that case, may I have your phone number?

Nadira watched me for a moment, as if she wanted to make me even more nervous.

Her: Sure. Give me your phone.

I handed it to her. She typed in her number and gave it back.

Her: Don’t send me anything weird.

You: I’ll try.

Her: Try?

You: I can’t promise everything will be normal after I’ve had a conversation with a twig.

Nadira laughed again.

Her: See you, Arga.

You: See you, Nadira.

---

That evening, I opened a new conversation with the number Nadira had given me.

I wrote a message, deleted it, then rewrote it several times.

Finally, I sent the first one.

You: Have you checked your hair?

Her: I have.

You: All clear?

Her: All clear. No more twigs.

You: That’s a relief.

Her: But I think something was left behind.

You: What?

Her: Someone has been stuck in my thoughts since this morning.

I stared at my phone for a long moment, smiling.

You: He must be lucky.

Her: Not necessarily.

You: Why not?

Her: He was talking to a twig earlier.

You: I think I know him.

Her: Really?

You: Yes. He also can’t stop thinking about a woman named Nadira.

Nadira did not reply right away.

A few minutes later, my phone lit up again.

Her: Don’t be late tomorrow.

You: Why?

Her: I don’t want to take the LRT alone.

You: All right.

You: Same time?

Her: Same time.

You: Same carriage?

Her: Same carriage.

You: Same twig?

Her: Don’t expect too much.

---

From that day on, the LRT ride became the part of our morning we looked forward to most.

We met almost every day. Sometimes I brought coffee; sometimes Nadira brought bread for breakfast.

Whenever one of us was late, the other would wait near the door and watch every passenger who stepped inside.

A simple conversation in a train carriage slowly became an important part of our lives.

---

Three months after we first met, I took Nadira back to the little park near the station where we had exchanged numbers.

I brought a small twig with two leaves.

Her: You actually went looking for a twig?

You: It took a while.

Her: What for?

You: I wanted to remember how all of this began.

Nadira looked at the twig, then at me.

You: To anyone else, this might be nothing more than a little twig.

You: But because of it, I got to know you.

You: Since I met you, a journey that used to feel ordinary has become something different.

You: I have a reason to leave home earlier.

You: I have someone I want to tell my stories to every day.

Nadira listened without saying a word.

You: I don’t know where this journey will take us.

You: But I know I want to take it with you.

I drew a slow breath.

You: I love you, Nadira.

Tears gathered in Nadira’s eyes. She smiled, then took my hand.

Her: Do you know why I gave you my number that day?

You: Because you felt sorry for how nervous I was?

Her: No.

You: Because of the twig?

Her: Not that either.

Her: It was because you chose to help me.

Her: You could have laughed at me, but instead you came over gently and took the twig out of my hair.

Her: From that moment, I felt that you were a good person.

Nadira held my hand a little tighter.

Her: I love you too, Arga.

You: So that’s a yes?

Her: That’s a yes.

You: No trial period?

Her: There will still be evaluations.

We laughed together.

On the way home, Nadira rested her head on my shoulder.

We kept the little twig between the pages of the book she had carried on the first day we met.

Years later, the color of its leaves had faded.

But to us, that little twig would always be a reminder that love does not always begin with something grand.

Sometimes, love only needs a simple encounter, a little courage, and a tiny twig caught in someone’s hair.