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The train rocked gently, the kind of motion that makes your bones forget they're tired.
Rony settled into the corner of his seat, pulled his bag closer to his chest, and leaned his head against the window. The soft rhythm of tracks beneath them pulsed like a lullaby—steady, dependable. His eyelids fluttered shut.
In his ears, the smooth romantic song still played. Muffled strings and soft vocals. No lyrics. Just emotion. Like someone pouring their soul into sound.
He hummed along without thinking, not for anyone to hear—just for himself.
A brief moment. A sliver of peace. His own little island in a moving metal sea.
Around him, the world kept spinning.
A man in a suit shifted restlessly across the aisle, checking his watch for the third time. His eyes were sharp, his fingers jittery, like his brain was five stops ahead of the train.
Next to him, a teenage girl pressed her forehead against the glass. Her eyes were red. Maybe from a fight. Maybe from something deeper. Her phone buzzed once. She didn't check it.
Two kids ran past the cabin, laughing too loud before their tired mother barked their names. Her hands were full. So was her heart.
Farther down, a woman with headphones nodded along to a silent rhythm, smiling to herself. Maybe a good memory. Maybe a new message.
All around him, people came and went. Faces he didn't know. Stories he'd never hear. But they passed by him like ghosts in motion—each carrying a world of their own.
Doors opened. New passengers stepped in. Doors closed. The train kept moving.
In the quiet rhythm of it all, Rony breathed. Inhale. Exhale. Eyes still shut.
"Next stop: City Center. Next stop: City Center."
The voice over the intercom was robotic, but it still cut through the haze like a bell. He stirred. The song in his ears was already fading to its last notes.
His eyes opened, slow and smooth, like he was waking up from something heavier than sleep.
No sigh. No stretch. Just a quiet return.
He stood. Moved toward the door with practiced ease. One hand on the railing, the other slipping his phone back into his pocket. The platform approached like a dream solidifying into concrete.
The doors hissed open. A gust of warm air met his face, laced with city breath and bus exhaust.
He stepped out, not in a rush, not in a drag. Just walking. Just being.
Outside the station, the usual chaos greeted him—honks, chatter, flashing signs. But it didn't touch him. He slipped through it like a thread through cloth, moving to the nearest row of parked taxis.
One yellow cab, slightly dented door, sleepy driver. Perfect.
Rony opened the door, slid inside, and closed it with a soft thud.
He took out his earbuds and placed them carefully in the case, snapping it shut with a quiet click. The silence hit his ears like a soft weight. Real life had its own soundtrack—distant sirens, footsteps, murmurs from passing crowds.
"The Super Mall, next city border," he told the driver, voice even.
The man nodded, said nothing, and pulled into traffic.
Rony leaned back into the seat, eyes tracking the blur of the city beyond the window. The buildings, the wires, the people on motorbikes weaving through lanes like dancers in a hurry.
He tapped his phone once and glanced at the screen.
9:32 a.m.
"Still on time," he murmured to himself.
A small victory. Maybe the only one he'd get today.
But sometimes, that was enough.
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To Be Continued…