Every night after university, Aisha boarded the same late-night local train home. The compartment was usually half-empty. There were tired office workers and dim lights flickering against the rain-stained windows. Somewhere amidst the silence of strangers and the sound of the tracks, that train ride had become the only place where she could breathe without feeling rushed.
She turned her head and looked around the compartment until her gaze got stuck on a particular figure. Among all the unfamiliar faces, this person seemed strangely familiar to her. Not because she was acquainted with him, but because almost every night, the same boy missed his station.
He always sat by the window with his bag hanging from one shoulder, his tie slightly undone and headphones resting around his neck. At some point during the ride, he would fall asleep so deeply that the station announcements couldn’t wake him. At first, Aisha ignored him. After all, it wasn’t her problem if a stranger couldn’t stay awake.
Then one night, after hearing the announcement for his station for the third time, irritation got the better of her.
“Hey,” she muttered while nudging his shoe with hers. “Your stop.”
The boy woke up startled and stumbled out just before the doors closed. For a second, he turned back toward her before disappearing onto the platform.
The next night, he was there again.
He looked at Aisha and said, “Thanks for yesterday.” “Just don’t fall asleep tonight,” she replied, a subtle smile tugging at her lips. He leaned back against the window and closed his eyes for a second. “I trust you to wake me up again if I miss it.” “I definitely won’t then,” she said lightly. And somehow, without either of them realizing when it started, that became their routine.
Over the next few weeks, they slowly got used to each other. They joked about university life, complained about “impossible” deadlines, and occasionally shared snacks during the long rides home. Some nights they barely spoke at all, simply sitting in comfortable silence while the city lights blurred past the windows.
Yet somehow, they never exchanged names. It wasn’t intentional. The moment just never came. Their conversations belonged entirely to that train compartment, as if asking too many personal questions would ruin the small routine they had quietly built together.
Still, little things about him started lingering in Aisha’s mind without her meaning them to. Like how he always loosened his tie the second he sat down, or how he rubbed his eyes whenever he was particularly exhausted. Some nights he looked like he hadn’t slept right in days.
And somewhere along the way, he started noticing things too. The way she always carried earphones but rarely used them. How she stared out the window whenever she seemed lost in thought. How she tried to hide her smile by looking away whenever he said something stupid.
Neither of them pointed these things out. But slowly, without either realizing it, familiarity began settling between them in the quietest ways possible.
One rainy evening, the train came to a sudden stop between stations due to a signal failure. The lights flickered slightly, and rain hammered against the glass just enough to drown out the murmurs of the passengers. For the first time, neither of them reached for their phones.
The silence stretched between them until he quietly asked, “Do you ever feel tired even when you’ve done absolutely nothing?” The question caught her off guard. Aisha turned to look at him properly for the first time that evening. “That’s a strangely specific question.” A faint smile appeared on his face, though it looked more tired than amused. “I was hoping you’d say no.” She looked away toward the rain-streaked glass.
For a moment, all she could hear was the steady tapping of rain against the windows and the distant murmur of impatient passengers. Then she spoke softly. “I think being tired all the time just becomes normal after a while.”
Something about the honesty of that answer shifted something between them.
The teasing faded into silence, though this time it no longer felt empty.
Eventually, the train lurched back into motion. The familiar station announcements echoed through the carriage once again, and Aisha realized his stop was approaching.
For the first time, the thought of him leaving felt strangely unsettling.
As the train slowed near the platform, he stood and adjusted his bag. Cool air drifted inside as the doors slid open, carrying the faint scent of rain with it.
But instead of stepping out immediately, he paused by the doorway and turned back toward her.
“What if I miss my stop tomorrow too?” he asked, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
Aisha looked up at him, caught slightly off guard. Rainlight reflected softly against the glass behind him, softening the exhaustion on his face.
Then she smiled.
“Then I guess I’ll have to wake you up again.”
For a brief moment, neither of them moved.
Then the warning chime echoed through the compartment. He stepped onto the platform just as the doors slid shut between them.
For the first time since they met, Aisha watched him until he disappeared from sight.
