1 Necessity : 1

I met Mrs.Danksworth in the one of the most normal ways. On a train, to be precise. She was an indifferent old,wobbly lady knitting a muffler. Her eyes were casually placed on the movement of her hands. I don't really know why but I suddenly had the urge to make conversation. I don't regret the decision to this day.

"Going to Caversham?" My voice came out milder than I had intended. She nodded, not bothering to acknowledge me at all. "You're going alone?" She made a noise of agreement. "I'm going to St.Peter's. How about you?" She lazily stopped her handiwork and looked at me. "You're quite a talker. I don't like bigmouths. I prefer silence. So, stop your pleasantry or I will make you leave."

I certainly wasn't expecting that. I was bewildered, amazed at her. I let out a small chuckle. "And how are you planning to 'make me leave'?" "Oh I don't know, I might stab you with my needles." I laughed heartily. "I'm Robin Davies. I must say, I find you highly intriguing. Mrs.?.." "Danksworth. Though we're divorced, I kept the name. It sounded better than my maiden one." "And what was your maiden name? " "Davina Mary. It never sounded beautiful to me. My father had an obsession with unique names. But our last name is rather normal." "Davina Danksworth, pretty indeed." She smiled mildly.

I came to know many little details about her. She was born in Pangbourne but later her family shifted to Belfast. Her husband lived 3 blocks away from them. It was an arranged marriage, a forced one to be honest. She described Mr.Danksworth as 'a lowly human being who smelled ridiculously bad and would pick fights for no apparent reason.' However, when the topic of children was brought up, she turned extremely solemn. Perhaps they didn't have any, or had lost them. It was a gentleman's duty to change the subject immediately and make her feel comfortable. But I wasn't a gentleman!

"I have a daughter. She's 54 now." "You must've had her at a pretty young age?" "I was 21", she smiled. " But..she never stayed with me." "She preferred Mr.Danksworth?" She sighed. "She isn't my husband's." My eyes widened,"Oh, well, forgive me. I'm meddling too much." I smiled apologetically.

I helped her get off the train. She took her incomplete muffler in her hand and waved goodbye. "Good luck with journaling young man!" She called and disappeared out of sight. I started sweating out of uneasiness. I never told her I was a journalist...