The Last Train to somewhere

The rain fell softly over the city as Emma rushed into the station, her coat half-buttoned and her hair damp from the

evening drizzle.

She wasn’t supposed to be there. Not tonight. Not after everything that had happened.

But somehow, her feet had brought her there anyway.

The platform was nearly empty, except for a man standing near the edge, staring at the tracks as if he were waiting for

something more than just a train.

Emma slowed down. There was something familiar about him.

"Daniel?"

she called, uncertain.

He turned.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Two years had passed since they last saw each other—two years filled with missed calls, unsent messages, and words that

were never said.

"I didn’t expect to see you here,"

he finally said, his voice softer than she remembered.

"I could say the same,"

Emma replied, stepping closer.

"Where are you going?"

Daniel gave a small smile.

"I don’t really know. Just… away, I guess."

Emma looked at him, really looked this time.

He seemed the same, but also different—like someone who had been carrying something heavy for far too long.

"You always do that,"

she said.

"Do what?"

"Run when things get complicated."

He let out a quiet laugh.

"And you always stay until it hurts too much."

The words lingered between them, heavier than the rain.

"I never wanted us to end like that,"

Emma said, her voice trembling slightly.

"I just didn’t know how to fix it."

Daniel took a step closer.

"Neither did I."

The sound of an approaching train echoed in the distance.

"This is my train,"

he said, glancing over his shoulder.

Emma nodded, but didn’t move.

"If you get on that train,"

she said,

"we’ll become strangers again."

Daniel looked back at her, searching her eyes.

"And if I don’t?"

Emma took a deep breath.

"Then maybe we try again. Not like before… but better."

The train pulled into the station, its doors sliding open with a mechanical hiss.

People stepped on. People stepped off.

But Daniel didn’t move.

Instead, he reached for her hand—hesitant at first, as if asking for permission.

Emma didn’t pull away.