Secrets - T.WOLFF

chapter 2

The metro continued its rhythmic journey, each station bringing a subtle shift in the ebb and flow of passengers. I remained engrossed in my book, the world of forgotten art and untold stories a comforting escape from the mundane. The man in the suit had slipped to the back of my mind, a curious footnote in the tale of my metro ride.

As the metro pulled into another station, I felt the familiar tug of gravity as passengers disembarked and new ones stepped aboard. A sense of familiarity settled in, punctuated by the soft chime that signaled the closing of doors. And yet, amid the crowd, there was one noticeable absence: the man in the black suit.

Curiosity piqued, I couldn't help but glance around, half-expecting to catch a glimpse of him. But the seat beside me remained empty, a reminder of his brief presence. He had departed the metro earlier than me, his path veering off in a different direction. The absence left me with an odd mix of emotions - curiosity, intrigue, and a tinge of disappointment that our silent encounter had come to an end.

As my own stop approached, I stowed my book in my bag and rose from my seat. I was looking forward to a quiet evening at home, perhaps making myself some tacos for dinner. The thought of savory spices and warm tortillas brought a smile to my lips.

With each passing station, I mentally prepared for my exit. The metro cars slowed and stopped, passengers shuffling towards the doors. And when my station finally came into view, I stood by the doors, ready to disembark.

But as the doors slid open, my gaze caught on something unusual. On the seat opposite mine, resting against the faded fabric, was a leather bag. It was the same bag the man in the suit had carried - a rich, deep shade of brown that spoke of quality and expense.

My brows furrowed in surprise. How had he left behind something so valuable? I hesitated for a moment, the doors waiting patiently. And then, instinct took over. Without thinking, I picked up the bag and stepped onto the platform.

The chill of the evening air greeted me, and I clutched the bag against me as I walked away from the metro. The weight of it was substantial, a reminder of its contents. As I walked, my thoughts raced. What should I do with it?

A small dilemma formed in my mind. On one hand, I could take the bag to the metro station's lost and found office. It seemed like the responsible thing to do - a way to ensure that the man's valuable belongings were returned to him. But on the other hand, I hesitated. The station office might be closed at this hour, and I'd have to leave the bag there, hoping it would find its way back to its owner.

Another option presented itself - to try and return the bag myself. The idea felt more personal, a way to ensure that the man's belongings were returned directly to him. But how would I even find him? My knowledge of him was limited to a single metro ride, and I didn't even know his name.

I continued walking, the bag heavy in my grip, its contents a mystery. The metro station loomed ahead, its entrance beckoning like a decision waiting to be made. Lost in thought, I slowed my pace. The city's lights seemed to twinkle with the weight of possibility, each path leading to its own set of consequences.

As I stood before the station's entrance, I glanced down at the bag in my hands. My decision felt significant, a choice that would shape the direction of this unexpected narrative. With a sigh, I stepped forward, determined to do what felt right.

With the leather bag clutched in my hand, I stood before the metro station's lost and found office, its door a barrier between me and the decision I had to make. Determined, I lifted my hand and knocked, the sound echoing through the empty corridor.

A moment passed, then two, and yet no response came from within. I strained my ears, hoping to hear footsteps or the sound of voices, but the office remained silent. A glance at my watch told me that it was later than I had realized - the staff had likely already left for the day.

A sigh escaped my lips, tinged with frustration. I had carried the bag with the intention of doing the right thing, and yet now I found myself standing here, unsure of what to do next. The owner of the bag was probably already at the airport, perhaps even checking in for a flight.

I looked down at the bag in my hand, its leather smooth under my fingers. It seemed like a symbol of my dilemma - a puzzle waiting to be solved. With a shake of my head, I turned away from the locked office door and walked back towards the metro entrance.

The city's lights had come to life as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow over the streets. The air held a hint of coolness, a promise of the evening's embrace. The weight of the bag reminded me of the responsibility I had taken on, a responsibility that felt both honorable and daunting.

The journey home was a short one, a mere five-minute walk from the metro station to my small one-room apartment. The building's entrance felt like a welcome sight, its familiarity a comfort after the uncertainty of the last hour. As I climbed the stairs, my footsteps seemed to echo with the sound of my own thoughts.

Unlocking the door to my apartment, I stepped inside and set the bag down on the small table by the door. The city's lights filtered through the window, casting gentle patterns on the walls. The apartment was a reflection of me - cozy, eclectic, and filled with the things that brought me joy.

With a deep breath, I moved to my small kitchenette, its compact size no obstacle to the culinary adventures I often embarked upon. The thought of making tacos still brought a smile to my lips. The sizzle of a pan and the aroma of spices filled the air as I cooked, the distraction providing a welcome respite from the events of the evening.

Once dinner was ready, I settled onto the couch with my plate of tacos and my MacBook perched on my lap. Trashy reality TV shows awaited, their melodramatic narratives a far cry from the forgotten art and hidden tales of my book. It was a guilty pleasure, a simple indulgence that allowed me to unwind and let go of the weight of the evening.

As the characters on the screen navigated their own dramas, I glanced at the leather bag resting on the table nearby. The screen's glow cast a soft light, illuminating its sleek surface. The bag seemed to hold its own story - one of a man in a suit, a chance encounter, and the journey of a valuable possession from one stranger's hands to another's.

With a contented sigh, I let myself be carried away by the antics on the screen.

The sound of hushed conversations and the flicker of the TV screen's glow filled the room as I savored my tacos. The events of the evening, the leather bag, and the man in the suit all felt like distant memories, slowly blending into the comfort of my apartment.

With each bite, my mind began to drift, the exhaustion of the day catching up to me. The warmth of the room and the rhythmic hum of the city outside created a soothing lullaby, gently tugging at my senses.

As I finished my meal and set the empty plate aside, I realized just how tired I was. The decision to return the bag had brought with it a wave of mental fatigue, and the familiarity of my couch seemed inviting. I set my MacBook on the coffee table, its screen going dim, and settled further into the cushions.

The TV's glow danced on the walls, casting shadows that seemed to shift with each passing moment. The chatter of the reality show contestants became a gentle murmur, the drama of their lives a distant echo. My eyelids grew heavy, a warm blanket of drowsiness enveloping me.

I let out a soft yawn, my fingers idly tracing patterns on the fabric of the couch