'i see a world of colours that mean everything to me when all you can hear are notes that mean nothing to you'
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A slow paced, aesthetic, dreamy book based on songs and emotions | A list of stories that I never got to write~
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Updates twice...
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'only darkness shines'
They were there every 5:37, like clockwork. Every single Monday to Friday, and sometimes on Saturdays and Sundays, it seemed like such a bore without the two-hour train ride.
The first time they had boarded the same train, they had each been with their friends. She was on her way to work at the bookstore she adored so much, and he was heading to the cafe that took up most of his time.
They got on the same train in the morning at 5:37, then again at night, once more at 5:37. It was their magic time, their midnight, their golden hour.
"Good morning," he greeted, very much awake, an early bird at heart. There was nothing he enjoyed more than watching the sunrise, while she much preferred sunsets.
They were almost friends, but the kind with whom you spilled secrets without quite knowing their favourite color. Yes, he knew that the scar on her neck was from when she fell down at the playground when she was five, but no, she didn't know if she had Instagram or not.
She knew that he woke up at 2 AM every morning because he had been in a car accident back from his cousin's wedding around that time when he was ten. But she didn't know if he had any siblings or not.
There were many things they knew about one another, whispered truths unveiled at their usual spot in the corner of the train every morning and every night.
Questions ranged from weird names of customers he served at the cafe to why the hell he had chosen to wear mismatched socks on a Monday morning.
"Morning's not very good," she grumbled. He raised an eyebrow at her foul mood.
"Wanna talk about it? Or are we watching Angels and Demons again?" Those were always the options: talking, a film or drama, and sometimes, just sometimes, they'd listen to music, each one taking one side of a set of wireless headphones and listening to music the entire ride with little to no words exchanged between them.
Those rides were special and few, but they had happened. He remembered every single one of them.
"My mother's fighting with my father again," she sighed, rubbing her temples tiredly. "She called this morning, at 2, to rant about something I thought I'd left behind when I moved."
He sighed and patted the seat next to him. Sometimes they sat opposite one another; other times, next to each other. She needed some sort of anchor to ground her right now, and he was more than willing to be that silent pillar.
