The Stranger from Seat 14B

Lena settled into her seat on the flight from Budapest to Genova, tucking her backpack under the seat in front of her. She sighed, glancing out the small oval window as the Hungarian capital shrank below. It had been a whirlwind of a trip—solo traveling through Central Europe had been both exhilarating and exhausting. She had wandered through the gothic streets of Prague, losing herself in its fairytale-like charm; admired the stunning architecture of Vienna, indulging in rich coffee and decadent Sachertorte; and soaked in the thermal baths of Budapest, feeling both rejuvenated and overwhelmed by the grandeur of the city. She had also taken a detour to Kraków, where she explored the haunting beauty of Wawel Castle and the poignant history of Auschwitz. In Bratislava, she had spent an afternoon walking along the Danube, marveling at the contrast between medieval charm and post-Soviet influences. In Ljubljana, she had been enchanted by the picturesque bridges and dragon statues, while in Zagreb, she had wandered through the lively Dolac Market, savoring fresh pastries. Now, she was on her way to Italy for the last leg of her journey.

She reached for her book, hoping to lose herself in its pages, but a soft rustling beside her made her look up. The man sitting next to her was flipping through a dog-eared travel guide. He had an unkempt mop of dark curls and wore a navy sweater that looked well-worn, the kind that people keep for sentimental reasons rather than style. When he noticed her gaze, he smiled.

“First time in Italy?” he asked in a lightly accented voice.

Lena hesitated. “Not exactly. I’ve been to Rome and Florence before, but never to Genova.”

He nodded appreciatively. “Genova is... different from those places. Less polished, more rugged. But it has its own charm. I’m Marco, by the way.”

“Lena.”

She shook his offered hand and then glanced at the book in his lap. “You’re reading about Italy while heading there?”

Marco laughed. “Something like that. I live in Genova, but I was in Budapest for work. I like to see how travel books describe my home. Sometimes they get it right, sometimes not so much.”

“Do they get it right this time?” Lena asked, intrigued.

He flipped to a page and pointed. “This part says the old town is a maze of narrow alleys filled with the scent of the sea and fried focaccia. That’s true.” Then he turned to another section and rolled his eyes. “But this part calls the city ‘sleepy.’ That’s nonsense. Genova is always moving, always changing.”

Lena smiled. “You sound passionate about your city.”

“I am.” He leaned back in his seat. “You’re traveling alone?”

“Yes,” she admitted. “I had a friend who was supposed to come, but plans changed. So, I decided to just go by myself.”

“Brave.”

She shrugged. “I guess. But I think you learn more about a place when you’re alone. No distractions.”

Marco tilted his head in consideration. “Maybe. But sharing a place with someone—seeing their reaction to it—that’s special, too.”

Lena thought about that. She had spent the last two weeks navigating unfamiliar cities, eating at restaurants where she barely understood the menu, and watching sunsets alone. It had been freeing, but also lonely at times. Maybe Marco had a point.

“So, what brings you to Genova?” he asked.

“I read about it somewhere,” she said, half-smiling. “I liked the idea of a port city with history but fewer tourists than Venice.”

He grinned. “You chose well.”

They spent the next half-hour talking about Genova. Marco described the old harbor with its towering lighthouse, the hidden art galleries tucked into winding alleys, and the best places to get trofie al pesto, a Ligurian specialty. He told her about the bustling Mercato Orientale, a place where the scent of fresh herbs, seafood, and bread filled the air. He painted vivid pictures of the colorful houses in Boccadasse, a quiet fishing village just outside the city. Lena found herself captivated—not just by the city he described, but by the enthusiasm with which he spoke about it.

“Will you be there long?” he asked as the flight attendant walked past with a cart of drinks.

“Just three days,” Lena said. “Then I head back home.”

“That’s barely enough time,” Marco lamented. “But if you want, I can show you around.”

She hesitated. Accepting an invitation from a stranger wasn’t exactly in her travel playbook. But Marco didn’t feel like a stranger anymore. And the idea of experiencing Genova through the eyes of someone who loved it so much was tempting.

“I’d like that,” she said finally.

They exchanged numbers just as the captain announced their descent. Below them, the Ligurian coast shimmered in the afternoon light, and Lena felt a flicker of excitement. Maybe traveling alone wasn’t just about solitude. Maybe it was also about unexpected connections, about meeting people who could turn a simple trip into something extraordinary.

As the plane touched down, Marco turned to her with a grin. “Welcome to Genova.”

Lena smiled back. Something told her this would be a trip she wouldn’t forget.

After landing, as they walked through the terminal, Marco pointed out a café near the exit. “If you’re not in a hurry, you should try a real Italian espresso.”

Lena checked her watch. “I have time.”

They stepped into the café, where the aroma of freshly brewed coffee wrapped around them. Marco ordered two espressos, gesturing for her to watch as the barista prepared them with practiced efficiency.

“This,” he said, sliding a tiny cup toward her, “is the proper way to start your time in Italy.”

Lena took a sip. The rich, bold flavor hit her tongue, and she let out a small sigh of contentment. “Okay,” she admitted. “You might be onto something.”

Marco chuckled. “See? You’re already experiencing the real Genova.”

They lingered in the café, the conversation flowing effortlessly. Marco told her stories of growing up by the sea, of childhood summers spent exploring hidden coves along the coast. Lena, in turn, shared her travel stories, from getting lost in Prague’s labyrinthine streets to an impromptu folk music night in Kraków. Time slipped away until finally, she realized she needed to check into her accommodation.

“I should go,” she said reluctantly, standing up. “But I’ll message you.”

Marco nodded. “Do. There’s so much more to see.”

As she stepped out onto the bustling street, the city unfolding before her, she felt something shift within her. This wasn’t just another stop on her journey. It was the beginning of something new.

And she couldn’t wait to see where it would lead.