PLATFORMS ↛ D.A

Epilogue

King's Cross Station, London

6 Years Later

The sound of screeching trains and fast strides wasn't something Amelia had missed. The hustle and bustle of London had quickly become foreign to her along with all familiarities and such — it felt like starting again. All untouched from the last time she had walked in a sinking bereft way, dragging her feet aside the Thames.

Her eyes narrowed at the arrival of a train on the platform opposite. Floods of memories pushed into action when business men had spilled out of the carriage, all talking loud on phones and almost pushing through one another. She lit a cigarette, twirling it around her fingers and tapping her feet in a subconscious anxiety.

Cold air blew through the station along with the arrival and departures of various trains. Similar to that day all of those years ago, rushing feet ran through her line of vision and forced a sigh from her lips, raking in another slow draw of the cigarette between her fingers.

She couldn't force a polite smile when a man had sat a few seats down from her. His brightly coloured socks indicative of a depressing office job, the cross of his ankles over one another reminded her of someone else.

A train had just left, allowing full viewing access to the abundance of people on the other side. It was a snapshot of humanity. Some chatting, some laughing, a few stood around on their phones idly scrolling, while others paced up and down in impatience. Not one soul seemed truly happy. It could just be London, but each smile lasted fewer than a second — barely stretching to eyes, the laughs seemed forced and those who paced did so with stressed brows.

London in general was a mindfuck.

The whole mess had stripped the life out of Amelia and now she mopped around, bounced between jobs and wasted money on shit weed. It wasn't exactly Hollywood. She curled her lip at the thought of it, looking up for the first time in ten minutes to the platform opposite her.

And she hadn't noticed it at first, the sinking feeling in her stomach. The way her throat dried and how everything felt just a little bit quieter. It was a sense, one she didn't have a reason for until she heard it. Loud and clear, her name from the stretch of concrete adjacent to her.

And that voice was instantly recognisable. A deep thrum, caught up in strangled shouts.

Amelia didn't dare look up.

She was afraid to.

A train pulled in between the platforms and the voice left with its view. Drowned out by the hissing of a settling engine and general chatter as people began to stream out of the carriage.

Amelia grabbed her bags, almost tripping over her own legs at the speed in which she attempted to walk away. Nausea rising up in her throat, body turned weak at the feeling of being backed up into a corner and trapped.

"Amelia!" His strained shout followed hot after her, jumping over a turnstile and edging his way through the crowd of people.

He looked different. Ever so slightly, but enough to notice. His hair darkened, a slight stubble dotted over more skin than before and a few more stress-lines had been accepted over passing time. His face was complimented by a warm British tan, one that landed perfectly across his forearms and hands too.