This story is entirely Sylvanius's and Tortalls Resident Witchchild's fault. I never would have even signed up with Fanfiction, but then I read their stories.

Disclaimer: I don't own Daine or Numair, cause I don't believe in slavery, or sweatshops.

The tall man sighed. At this slow rate, there was no way he would make it onto school property before the curfew. And as a professor, well, this did not look good.

Why must we continue stopping? he mused. It's not as if people actually are waiting to get on this train.

He sat up, trying to stretch out the kink in his neck. Trains simply were not made for 6-foot-five men.

The train shuddered to a halt at yet another stop. Surprisingly, a door opened. A girl, no, really a young women, stepped through the entrance. The professor leaned forward, curious as to who might be getting on the train at this late hour. He half expected her rosy, soft lips to open, quietly chiding herself for getting on the wrong train. She didn't.

Instead, she walked with the grace of a ballerina to the seat in front of him.

"You don't mind if I sit here, do you?" She asked in a melodic voice.

He shook his head, one corner of his mouth cocked up in a pleasant half-smile.

"I'm Daine," She continued.

"I'm Numair,"

She grabbed her bags then moved to sit next to him. Numair glanced at her, a question in his eyes.

She smiled and responded "It'd be rather awkward to have to sit backwards just to talk to you. Unless, of course, you don't want to talk." She gestured forward and said "If that's the case, I'll move back up."

"Oh no, I don't mind. So where are you going?"

"Haven't really thought about it. Where this train is headed, I guess. I take it that's where you're going?"

"Yes. I'm a professor at the college."

"Really. That sounds like . . . um, like fun."

"I do enjoy it, for the most part. I'm constantly learning new things, although I'm supposed to be the teacher."

Daine's face lit up with a huge smile, revealing white teeth. She relaxed into the back of the seat. After a few moments of silence, she reached into her bag and pulled out a CD player.

Numair stared out the window. He was oblivious to the scenery outside, but focused on a reflection in the smudgy glass. Daine appeared young, perhaps late teens or early twenty. Smoky grey curls fell to the bottom of her shoulder blades. Her eyes were entirely stormy-blue, large, with extravagant lashes. Numair had noticed her soft mouth earlier, and saw vulnerability in it. But her chin, stubborn in every way, denied any claims from her mouth. Daine wasn't very tall, but she looked so, her height offset by her modest curves and slenderness. Her jeans looked old, faded, torn at the knees and grass-stained. Her loose cami was covered by a knee-length corduroy coat.

The train jostled and slowly stopped. Numair picked up his bag. He offered to carry one of Daine's many bags, and she said accepted.

They hailed a cab. Numair helped load Daine's belongings into the back seat. In one fluid motion, she slid into the seat. Numair stepped back onto the curb, a millions things to say, but he did not know how to say them so he simply watched the yellow taxi fade into darkness.

So, what do you think? Please r&r, though I'll probably update anyway.