The Good Luck Girl by Maria Ignatieva

The train was hissing and clacking
and buzzing, hushing her to sleep. She was tired. Buying a one-way ticket, getting on the train, and not leaving it before the doors shut – all this took the last of her energy. This is what big decisions do, she supposed.
It’s hard to give up everything you had, pack your purple bag, and leave at once. But keeping on with the stable, dormant life, choked up by the large city, was even harder. Half-asleep, she watched the trees swiftly pass her window, merging into a blurry green mass.
Another train was coming her way, headed in the opposite direction. In one of the windows, she saw a woman – a purple bag, an excited face. Her own purple bag. Her own excited face.
She smiled and waved at her lazily.
“Good luck, girl.”