In the train

The hills and scattered figures of people in the far distance began to blur and fade as the train surged forward, its rhythmic hum vibrating through the cabin. Through the window, the countryside unfolded in all its green and gold glory.

It was fall, a wonderful season where the leaves on trees turned a beautiful red, gold, or amber, and the atmosphere gave a chill but comforting feeling.

But, the passing scenery barely caught her attention. A book rested in her hands, though it lay abandoned as her thoughts pulled her elsewhere—into the past, to the days of her childhood.

A soft smile touched her lips as the familiar sights of her hometown appeared like fragments of forgotten dreams.

"Home..."

She whispered, the word tasting like something warm and comforting.

How long had it been?

Five years? Seven?

She'd lost count.

The years had blended together in the whirlwind of studying abroad, but time spent away only seemed to sharpen her longing for the simple beauty of her home in the countryside.

Life abroad had been every bit as fascinating as she had imagined.

The bustling streets, the neon glow of city lights, the towering buildings that seemed to touch the clouds—everything felt so new, so different. The soft hum of traffic, the constant buzz of life, the crisp scent of concrete mixed with something foreign. There was always movement, always noise.

But no matter how exciting the city had been, she missed the stillness of her hometown.

The way the air smelled of wet earth after a spring rain, how the birds filled the skies with their morning songs, how the deer would wander like ghosts through the trees at dusk.

Oh, how it felt to be back.

The atmosphere inside the train cabin shifted suddenly, turning darker as the train entered a long, familiar tunnel.

She recognized it immediately—this tunnel, with its slanted, graffiti-scarred walls. It wasn’t the first time she had traveled through it, but the memories attached to it felt fresh as though they were unfolding for the first time.

She remembered her younger self, clutching her mother’s hand tightly as the darkness swallowed them whole. The way her heart would race, each second stretching on for an eternity as the tunnel closed in.

And her mother—so steady, so unbothered by the darkness—would gently squeeze her hand, reassuring her.

She chuckled softly, a light sound that barely broke through the low whirring of the train.

But as the tunnel stretched on, something caught her eye. A row of little lights blinked faintly on the tunnel walls, casting a dim, warm glow.

"Those weren’t there before..." she murmured to herself, her brow furrowing slightly.

Of course, things had changed in the approximately six years since she’d left. She’d known that. It just hadn’t quite sunk in until now.

The train burst into light as it exited the tunnel, but with the daylight returned a new knot of uncertainty in her chest. The closer she got, the more her mind raced.

How much has changed?

Would the roads be paved now, or would they still be those crumbling, winding paths she remembered from her childhood?

Would the little shops and cozy houses still line the streets, or had they been replaced by new buildings?

Would the birds still fill the air with their songs, or had their calls been drowned out by the noise of progress?

And most importantly, would her home— still feel like it once did?

Would it still be the quiet, peaceful countryside that had cradled her childhood?

Or would it be something altogether different now?

The last time she’d seen her family was in a photograph that had been taken by a traveling photographer that was mailed to her three years ago.

That picture was the first picture her family had taken together, since cameras were a rare thing in her home.

She wondered if they had changed as well, in the time she’d been away.

The letters they sent every month described new things—little changes here and there, like the new school or the little fabric boutique.

'Would home still be home?'

The sharp whistle of another train cut through her thoughts as it sped by, startling her. The metal screech was quickly replaced by the steady pulse of her own train as it continued onward.

She peered out the window, and there it was—the immovable circus.

Her heart leapt, and for a moment, she was a child again.

She could almost hear the laughter, the music, the calls of vendors handing out sweet treats. The circus had never moved from its spot along the train tracks, and once every year, without fail, she and her siblings would come.

It was more of a tradition than a thrill, really—mostly, they just came for the free snacks they handed out during the holidays, but, those were the memories she cherished most.

She leaned forward in her seat, abandoning her already abandoned book in the process, her face pressed against the cool glass as she grinned from ear to ear.

The joy of seeing the circus, the familiar tents, brought with it a rush of memories—of simpler times, when everything was more innocent and carefree.

The cabin was silent except for the soft hiss of the train’s wheels on the tracks.

As the circus faded from view, she leaned back in her seat with a contented sigh.

"To be young," she whispered, her heart full.

A moment later, her eyes caught the gaze of the gentleman sitting across from her; he was in his early thirties, but his mustache made him look way older.

His newspaper folded neatly across his face, and his legs lay crossed.

He peered over the edge of it, his eyes twinkling behind his glasses, giving her an amused look.

He seemed to silently ask, "Has she been deprived of the outside world all her life?"

Realizing she had been caught in her childlike excitement, she blushed slightly, offering an awkward smile.

She picked up her coffee cup from the small tray in front of her, the warmth of it in her hands grounding her as she took a quick sip, averting her gaze.

The coffee, bland and a little too bitter, didn't help matters. She scrunched her face at the taste, but tried as much as possible to hide it.

Her eyes wandered back outside, drawn again to the landscape rolling by. A new rice mill stood proudly in the distance, its sleek steel frame a stark contrast against the surrounding greenery.

She paused for a moment, the sight unfamiliar but strangely reassuring.

Things had changed, yes.

Her little hometown was evolving, growing. But beneath all that change, she hoped—no, needed—the soul of the place to remain unchanged. The peace, the quiet, the lush greenery... all the things that made it home.

With a deep breath, she leaned back in her seat, casually dropping her cup.

As the train carried her further into the past and closer to her future, her eyelids grew heavy, and soon, her thoughts were lulled by the steady sway of the train.

The hum of the tracks was the last thing she remembered before sleep claimed her.

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