🛤️ PART 1: The Platform
She met him at a train station. Not in a meet-cute way.
Not bumping into each other or dropping coffee.
He was just… there. Sitting alone on a bench, headphones in, staring at the departure board like it had answers.
She was running late. Hair damp from rain, one earring missing, carrying too many emotions and too little sleep.
And somehow, even with hundreds of strangers around — their eyes met. Just briefly.
Like the world paused. Not dramatically. Just… gently.
And that was the first time Mia saw Kian.
---
🧳 PART 2: Missed Departures
It became a thing.
Every Friday evening, they’d both be there.
Same bench. Same platform. Same silence.
They didn’t speak. Not at first.
But they smiled.
Shared headphones once when her phone died.
He gave her a chocolate bar. She gave him half her sandwich.
Until one day, he asked,
“Where do you go every week?”
She replied, “Nowhere really. I just like watching people leave.”
He nodded. “Me too.”
And suddenly, they weren’t strangers anymore.
---
☕ PART 3: The Almosts
They started meeting early.
She brought tea. He brought stories.
He told her about his sister who ran away and never called back.
She told him about her dad, who still left a light on for someone who wouldn’t return.
Their hurts were different. But familiar.
And sometimes that’s all it takes to feel less alone.
One rainy Friday, she said,
“If I asked you to stay, would you?”
He looked at her with those quiet, unreadable eyes.
“I don’t even know where I’m going.”
She whispered, “Me neither.”
But he didn’t leave.
---
📓 PART 4: The Secret
One evening, she gave him a tiny envelope.
No name. No stamp. Just the words: “Don’t open until I’m gone.”
He blinked.
“You’re leaving?”
She nodded.
“One final train.”
He asked nothing. She explained nothing.
They just sat there. Until the announcements echoed too loudly.
---
🚉 PART 5: The Goodbye
She hugged him.
The kind that holds on a little longer than it should.
He whispered, “Do you want me to come with you?”
She smiled, watery.
“No. I want you to stay. And open the envelope once I’ve gone.”
The train pulled in.
She didn’t look back.
---
✉️ PART 6: The Letter
He opened it three minutes later.
Inside: a polaroid of them from last Friday. A doodle of the bench.
And a note in her small, shaking handwriting:
"I waited here every week because I didn’t want to leave without knowing what love felt like.
Turns out, it sat right next to me.
If you ever look for me… just follow the sound of old trains and half-empty tea cups.
Love,
Mia.”
---
🩶 PART 7: After Her
He kept coming.
Not hoping she’d return — just remembering her exactly the way she wanted:
Soft. Unfinished. Beautiful.
And every now and then, someone would ask,
“Why do you always sit alone?”
He’d smile and say,
“I’m not alone.
She’s just… running late.”
