38 parts Ongoing Matureevery morning, she takes the same subway. same time, same car, same seat by the window. she doesn't look at people-doesn't want to be looked at. her past is heavy, stitched into her skin like an old wound that never healed right. trust is a foreign language, and love? that's just a story other people get to live. she has her job, her tiny studio, and her cat that isn't even supposed to be there. that's enough. it has to be.
he takes the same train. same time, same car. he's always put together, always in control, always moving forward. he doesn't have time for anything that doesn't serve him. but when he notices her-really notices her-he can't seem to stop. maybe it's the way she stares out the window like she's somewhere else entirely. maybe it's the way she never lingers, never hesitates, like she's afraid of staying too long.
they don't speak. not at first. but glances turn into curiosity, silence turns into something else, and one day, he finally sits down beside her.
they only ever talk on the subway. never outside of it. because the subway isn't real life. it's just a moment in between. a place where things begin but never last.
but some things are meant to follow you home.
