Byte-sized stories

It was Monday, six in the morning. The sun had just risen.

Lily sat on the edge of a platform bench, a backpack resting at her feet, watching the departure board flicker with destinations. She wondered which train to take.

The station was still quiet, but she knew that within half an hour it would fill with people rushing to work, others heading shopping, children dragging their bags to early sports classes before school. The morning rush was approaching. Once it arrived, the noise, the smells and the accidental pushes would overwhelm her senses. She wouldn’t be able to think clearly.

Still, she couldn’t decide.

Is it decision fatigue? she wondered.

The first train rolled in. It was heading towards the city.

It already looked crowded, buzzing with conversations and the restless energy of another Monday.

Is that what I need? she asked herself. The excitement? The endless rush?

No. Not today.

The doors closed.

As the train pulled away, she noticed someone waving from the carriage directly in front of her. One of her closest friends.

Lily jumped to her feet and waved back.

Too late.

The train disappeared around the bend.

The next train arrived on the opposite platform.

It was heading abroad, towards a quieter city surrounded by green countryside and small villages. The people boarding seemed calmer. Sleepy, perhaps.

A little girl looked at Lily and smiled.

For a brief moment, something inside her settled.

Maybe this is the one.

Before Lily could move, the girl’s father gently took her hand and hurried her aboard.

The doors closed.

The moment disappeared with the train.

Uncertainty returned.

More trains came and went, each heading somewhere different.

None of them called to her.

By ten o’clock, the station had become almost empty. The morning departures were over.

Lily was still sitting on the bench, her backpack untouched.

Had I already missed every chance?

A police officer approached.

“We’ve noticed you’ve been here since six this morning,” he said kindly. “Is everything alright?”

Lily laughed quietly to herself, which probably didn’t help.

How strange, she thought, that someone could watch another person for four hours and still feel entitled to question their sanity.

The officer looked increasingly concerned.

“I’m waiting for a friend,” Lily replied. “Their train is delayed.”

The explanation was enough.

The officer nodded, wished her a good day and left. A box ticked. A concern resolved.

Just as Lily stood up to leave, an old man sat down beside her.

His glasses were cracked. His shoelaces were untied. Yet he seemed completely at peace, as though neither deserved his attention.

“Where are you travelling?” Lily asked.

The old man looked at her with bright blue eyes and smiled.

“I’m here to decide that.”

His answer surprised her.

She had always imagined that by his age people simply knew where they were going.

As if he had heard the thought, he smiled again.

“Aren’t you here for the same reason?”

Lily nodded.

So they stayed.

They waited together without rushing either of them towards an answer. They shared their snacks, their thoughts, their silences.

For the first time that morning, Lily stopped looking at the departure board.

And she realised that perhaps not every journey begins with boarding a train.

Sometimes you don’t need certainty before taking the first step.

Sometimes you don’t need to become someone else before allowing yourself to exist.

Sometimes all you need is another person willing to sit beside you while you figure things out.

Without expectations.

Without pressure.

Just sharing whatever is there… whether thoughts, silence or a packet of biscuits.

Simply existing.

Together.