The Woman on the Orient Express is what happens when emotional repression, glamorous train rides, and complicated women collide at the speed of light. Everyone is carrying secrets, staring wistfully out train windows, and making decisions fueled entirely by heartbreak. The drama? Polite but intense. The longing? Elegantly packaged. The train? Somehow more emotionally stable than the characters. I spent the whole book wanting everyone to communicate honestly for once. But then there’d be no tension, no scandal, and significantly fewer meaningful silences over tea. Charming, emotional, and just messy enough to keep me on my feet.