Next Stop, You

---

I didn't expect to see her.

Which, statistically, made sense.

Stations are wide. Platforms are long. Our timing had been off for a week.

And honestly? I wasn't even supposed to be there.

Missed my regular train by four minutes because I dropped a pencil case under my bed and decided finding it was more important than education or social convention.

Turns out, apathy is fate's favorite wingman.

---

I rounded the corner near Platform 2 like usual — head down, music on.

And then she was there.

Not metaphorically. Not some blurry hallucination conjured by lo-fi trumpet loops.

Actually there.

And I froze.

Because bumping into someone you haven't emotionally recovered from is basically a jump scare wrapped in denim.

---

She bumped into me first.

Literally.

Shoulder-first, like some low-budget rom-com directed by a guy who doesn't believe in personal space.

We both jerked back at the same time.

She looked up.

And then it hit.

The eye contact.

---

There are several categories of eye contact:

1. Accidental – quickly broken, usually with an apology and existential regret.

2. Aggressive – often seen in teachers and angry cats.

3. Mutual-but-tragic – the one we were currently trapped in.

---

She blinked first.

"Oh," she said. Classic opener.

I said nothing.

Because the brain had short-circuited and was currently buffering like a public Wi-Fi connection.

---

She tucked her hair behind her ear, even though it wasn't in the way.

"Didn't think I'd see you here," she added, voice just slightly higher than usual.

Casual tone. Dangerous territory.

Because casual conversations are where all the emotional landmines live.

---

"I missed my train," I muttered. "Didn't think I'd see you, either."

Her eyes flicked to the side. Then down.

Her hands fiddled with the zipper on her hoodie.

Same one she wore the day she cried into her sleeve.

Same frayed hem. Same stitched-on band logo she claimed was ironic.

---

For a moment, neither of us said anything.

The station speaker crackled something incoherent.

Someone coughed nearby.

Time moved forward. We didn't.

---

Then I remembered.

I reached into my bag. Fumbled past my phone, my sketchbook, a wrapped chocolate she gave me once and I never ate.

Pulled out a folded sheet of paper. Slightly bent at the corners from overthinking.

I offered it to her without a word.

---

She looked at it like I'd handed her a confession letter written in fire.

Slowly, she took it.

Unfolded it.

Saw the sketch.

---

It was the one I finished the day I realized the songs were hers.

Her smiling.

Not for the world.

Not for a camera.

Just for... the moment.

For me, maybe.

I don't know.

I'm not poetic. I just draw what I see when I'm not trying to avoid people.

---

She stared at it.

Her lips parted slightly.

Not a gasp. Not a smile.

Just... surprised breath.

Then she laughed.

Except it was the sad kind of laugh — the one that breaks in the middle like a poorly built bridge.

---

Her hands trembled slightly.

She hugged the paper against her chest.

"Why did you draw this?"

I didn't know how to answer.

Because "I missed you so much I started drawing things that didn't exist yet" sounded like something from a teenage diary, not something actual people say aloud.

So I just shrugged.

"Because it's how I see you."

---

She looked up again.

Eyes glassy.

And suddenly, the distance between us felt heavier than all the silence we'd been carrying.

---

"I wasn't trying to disappear," she said softly.

I nodded. "You just... didn't know how to stay."

She winced at that.

But didn't deny it.

---

We stood there, like idiots, in the middle of a crowded platform.

No music.

No earphones.

Just two people who'd memorized the shape of each other's silence.

And finally started learning the words.

---

A train approached behind her.

The wind from it pulled at her sleeves.

Pulled at her breath.

She didn't move.

Neither did I.

---

She looked at me — really looked.

Not the way she did when she was mocking me.

Or teasing me.

Or pretending none of it mattered.

Just real.

Exposed.

And then she said:

> "I think I liked you from the moment you handed me that earphone."

---

I said nothing.

Because my heart was pounding so hard I wasn't sure I could speak without swallowing it.

---

Then she added, barely above the noise of the arriving train:

> "But I didn't know how to be someone who deserves to be liked back."

---

The train hissed to a stop.

Doors opened.

People shuffled in.

We didn't move.

We just stood there.

Two idiots.

A sketch between us.

And all the noise in the world finally fading out.

---