Smoking Stories

This story was submitted on February 19th 2026 by Cicada33. If you have a story to submit it’s right here !

Andrej sat in the compartment 15 minutes before departure. The train was half empty, Friday evening, most people had already left early or stayed in Coimbra for the weekend. He was sitting by the window, backpack on the shelf above his head, headphones in his ears, but the music was not on. He just stared at the platform, the rain pouring on the glass. The compartment was for six, but only one other person got in, a girl, about his age, maybe a year or two younger. Shoulder length blonde hair, thin rimmed glasses, dark green jacket, jeans. She was carrying a small canvas bag and a book in her hand. She sat opposite him, on the seat by the window, smiled briefly and politely, then opened the book. The train started 7 minutes late. Andrei took off his headphones, watched through the window as Coimbra disappeared into the darkness. Rain pattered on the roof of the wagon. The smell of an old train and a mixture of metal, wet cloth and something vague filled the compartment.

After half an hour, the girl closed the book, took out a small electronic cigarette – silver, thin – from her bag. She looked at him. “May I?” she asked quietly.

Andrei shrugged. “Of course. Just not too much smoke, please.”

She smiled. “It won’t. This is weak.” She drew a smoke – short, quiet. Steam came out of her lips in a thin cloud, the smell was sweet, fruity, not that classic tobacco, and the smoke was thick.

Andrey felt his nose wrinkling a little, he didn’t hate it, but it wasn’t pleasant either.

“Thank you,” she said after another smoke. “I’m Sarah.”

“Andrei.”

They were silent for a while. The train passed through the darkness, bright villages appearing and disappearing. Sarah took another puff of smoke and said: “Coming back from Coimbra?”

“Yes. I was with my parents. How about you?”

“Same. Family weekend. Now back to Lisbon, to work.”

The conversation started slowly, about work (she worked as a freelance graphic designer), about the city, about the rain that never stops. Sarah took occasional puffs of smoke from her vape, steam rising, the smell of fruit mixing with the smell of the train. At one stop, Sara turned off the vape, took out an ordinary cigarette, thin, white, with a gold filter, from her bag. “Now I’m moving on to the real thing,” she said with a smile. “This is for stress.”

She opened the window a little more, lit the fire. First smoke, deep, slow. She exhaled through the window, but some of the smoke returned to the compartment. Andrej felt the classic smell of tobacco, sharper, warmer, less sweet than vape. It didn’t repulse him like it did earlier in his life. He just sat and watched. Sarah noticed. “Hate smoke?” she asked.

“Not anymore,” he said honestly. “I used to. Now…less so.”

She smiled. “Want to try a smoke? It’s not the same as vape. But it’s not as bad as people think.”

Andrei hesitated. His heart raced a little. “I don’t know… I’ve never tried a real cigarette.”

“Then this is the perfect time,” she said. “Just one smoke. If you don’t like it – put it out and that’s it.” She handed him a cigarette, still warm from her lips.

Andrej took it, brought it to his lips. He took his first smoke, short, uncertain. The heat entered his throat, the stinging was stronger than he expected. He coughed lightly, but didn’t drop the cigarette. He held the smoke for two seconds, then exhaled through his mouth. The smoke rose in a thin stream.

“Well?” Sarah asked.

“Strange,” he said. “Warm. Bitter. But…not awful.”

Sarah smiled. “It’s a start.”

He gave her back the cigarette. She took another drag and handed it to him. “Another one?”

Andrei took it. This time he drew deeper, smoke filling his lungs, warmth spreading across his chest. He exhaled slowly through his nose. He felt his shoulders relax a little. They didn’t talk much after that. The train was entering Belgrade. Sarah put out a cigarette at the station, put one in his hand before she got out. “For if you ever want to try it yourself,” she said with a smile.

“You don’t have to. But if you want to – you know where it is.” Andrej kept the cigarette in his jacket pocket. He didn’t throw it away. That night, when he came home, he sat on the balcony. The rain has stopped. He took out a cigarette. He held her for a long time. Finally he put it between his lips. He didn’t have a lighter, so he lit it with a match from the kitchen. I’m the first smoke, deep, slow. Heat, bitter-sweet taste, dizziness. He exhaled slowly, watching the smoke rise into the night. He was not a smoker. Not yet. But the cigarette burned to the end. And he was in no hurry to turn it off. He thought about the previous four years since he moved to Lisbon, his dreams and darkest desires, he looked at his cigarette and smiled slightly. He knew, this was just the beginning.