Weekend Commute

She was watching outside the window from her window seat.  The train was going west toward the woods.
It seemed to be raining in the woods on top of the hills, she could tell with the dark shadows on the trees out there.
She put on her iPod and opened her book but continued watching outside her window.
She was smiling, listening to the "On The Beautiful Blue Danube" Waltz, swaying slightly at her neck and shoulders with the rhythm.  Closed her eyes.  Da raa raa raam raa raam ...
She felt a slight force to open her eyes; there was a young looking man sitting on the opposite sit on the other side of the train staring directly at her with a slight smile.  She smiled back and looked down on her book to find herself forced to look up again. He was still staring at her with the same smile.  Oh!  Strange she thought, and looked out the window, sheepishly lowered the volume on her iPod.  But it was the crescendo; the excitement was unbearable; she tapped her foot on the floor still looking outside the window.
The train was approaching a station.  Silent in her ears.  Next song.
She was looking outside at the station; what she was listening to was a classic concerto; what she was looking at was a modern station she thought.
As soon as she turned away from the window she found the man standing by her seat. "May I?" he asked.  Shockingly she looked at him and shook her head.  Polite, she thought.
He was carrying a book himself, and a shoulder bag which he put down on the floor in front of his feet.  What she was listening to was conducted by a great man at a majestic music hall; whom she was looking at was a curious weekend commuter she thought.
He sat down and opened his book.  She turned toward the window again.  "Pieces de Viole".
It was raining now.
He reached down and grabbed something from his bag.  "Chocolate?" he asked.  She looked down at the wrapping.  "Masala chocolate".  A blue-eyed blond man having a masala flavored chocolate bar in a train on a rainy weekend day??!  "Sure!  Thanks!!"
She cracked a piece and brought it to her nose.  Chocolaty, spicy, creamy.
"May I ask what you were listening to?"  "Oh!  When?  I am not sure."  She unplugged the earpieces and gave him the iPod.  He shuffled around.  Paused at a couple of the songs on her "classic" collection.  Smiled again, his eyebrows were raised.
"Neat!" he exclaimed.  And returned the iPod.  Then opened his book, took out the bookmark, and put it beside him in between them.  She put on her music again and watched out of the window.  It was darker outside.  She could see her reflection on it; she brought one finger to her lower lip, it felt as soft as it looked in her reflection she thought.  A soft symphony.
"See you later!".  He was standing up to leave.  They were at a station.  She looked up and shook her head.
Next song.
Mozart.
How come they didn't talk more than a few words?  She was preoccupied with her music, that is why.  But it was because of her music that he wanted to talk to her in the first place, no?  Who was he anyway?  Masala chocolate and a shoulder bag on a Saturday.
Her stop.  She put away all her belongings into her bag.  She looked around.  His bookmark on the seat beside her.  A business card.  His business card?
She stepped out of the train.  It was raining indeed in the woods.