3

A shiver crawls down her spine as she grips the ticket and the key tighter in her hand. Something isn’t right. Something is terribly, horribly wrong.

Then, she hears it-a whisper. Soft, barely audible, yet it seems to echo from every corner of the station.

“Wake up… wake up…”

She spins around, heart pounding. The voice is familiar, but she can’t place it. Her vision blurs for a moment, and when it clears, she sees something or someone standing at the far end of the platform.

A woman, draped in shadows, was watching her.

She takes a cautious step forward, but before she can speak, the woman turns and walks away, disappearing into the fog that clings to the station’s edges. A strange pull urges her to follow, and she did.

She hesitates for a second before stepping forward. Each footstep echoes unnaturally loud in the empty station. The silence around her is suffocating, pressing in from all sides. The fog thickens, swallowing the world beyond the platform.

She reaches the spot where the woman disappeared, only to find nothing but a rusted, broken sign that reads: No Entry-Restricted Area.

But something about this place feels important, like a memory just out of reach. Her fingers trail along the edges of the rusted metal before she glances down at the key in her hand.

Could it be?

With a deep breath, she kneels and presses the key into the old lock beneath the sign. A click. The gate creaks open, revealing a narrow staircase descending into darkness.

Without any another thought, she steps inside.

As she walks inside deep, she noticed that the stair which seems endless, but her feet kept moving forward. With each step, the air grows heavier, thicker with something unseen but deeply felt. The scent of dust and time fills her nostrils, and the faint hum of distant voices trickles through the walls, too muffled to understand.

She reaches the bottom to find a hallway stretching before her, lined with old, abandoned train cars. The paint is peeling, the windows clouded with grime. But it isn’t just neglect this place has been forgotten. Erased.

A single light flickers at the far end, casting eerie shadows along the walls. She steps forward cautiously, her fingers grazing the cool metal of the train cars as she passes.

Then, a voice.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

She freezes, her breath catching. The voice is close too close.

Turning sharply, she finds herself face to face with the man from before. The one who had given her the ticket. But this time, his expression is grim, his posture rigid.

“You,” she whispers. “Who are you? What is this place?”

His jaw tightens. “A mistake,” he says, voice laced with something that sounds like regret. “You weren’t supposed to come back.”

“Back?” She steps forward, confusion and frustration mounting. “I don’t understand. What’s happening to me?”

The man exhales sharply, glancing at the train cars. “Memories have a way of slipping through the cracks,” he murmurs. “Yours… were never meant to resurface.”

Her heart stutters. “What do you mean?”

He hesitates. Then, with a sigh, he gestures toward one of the train cars. “If you really want to know, you have to see for yourself.”

Dread coils in her stomach, but she steps forward, gripping the cold handle of the train door. With a groan, it slides open.

Inside, the air is thick with dust and something else—something deeper, older. The seats are torn, the floor littered with remnants of forgotten lives. But it isn’t the decay that makes her blood run cold.

It’s the photographs.

Taped to the walls, scattered across the seats. Dozens of them. People she doesn’t recognize. People who, according to the dates scribbled beneath their faces, disappeared on the same date.

Her fingers tremble as she reaches for one. A young woman, her eyes wide with something that looks like fear. The name beneath it is smudged, but the date is clear.

The same date as her missing poster.

Her pulse pounds. “What is this?” she demands, turning to the man.

His gaze darkens. “The ones who board the train,” he says quietly. “They don’t come back.”

Her breath shudders as she backs away from the wall of missing faces. The train car suddenly feels too small, too suffocating. The man watches her carefully, his expression unreadable.

“If they don’t come back,” she whispers, “then why am I here?”

His eyes flicker with something she can’t name. “Because,” he says slowly, “you were different.”

She swallows hard. “Different how?”

He steps closer, lowering his voice. “You weren’t supposed to be on that train. You weren’t meant to be taken.”

The words send a chill through her. “Then why was I?”

The man hesitates. Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, he says, “Because someone wanted you to remember.”

A rush of dizziness washes over her, fragments of half-formed memories clawing at the edges of her mind. A name lingers just beyond reach, a whisper in the void.

And then—

A sound. A low, echoing hum from deeper within the abandoned station. The ground beneath her trembles.

The man stiffens. “They know you’re here.”

Before she can ask what he means, the lights flicker wildly, plunging them into momentary darkness. When they return, the hallway beyond the train car is no longer empty.

Figures stand in the distance, watching.

They are faceless, shadows with only the hint of features. Their presence hums against her skin, sending a sharp wave of nausea through her.

The man grabs her wrist. “We have to go. Now.”

She doesn’t resist as he pulls her through the train car, out into the hallway. The figures don’t move, but she can feel them watching, waiting.

Waiting for what?

The man doesn’t slow. “You need to remember,” he says urgently. “It’s the only way out.”

The words ring in her ears as they reach another staircase, leading even deeper underground. The air grows colder, heavier.

She glances over her shoulder. The figures remain still, but the shadows around them pulse, shifting closer inch by inch.

A chill grips her heart. She isn’t sure if she wants to remember anymore.

But she may not have a choice, will she?.

As she was running ahead the only thing which was on her mind was, was she really dead? if she was then why she is again back in the exact same place she was killed before. but if as the man before her said, she was mistakenly killed because she board that train then why everyone is after her and why can't she remember anything on her own?

what's the reason? what's the cause of the accident? her death? those unknown people like spirit after her? why saving her if she also belong to one of them? why everyone says she shouldn't be here? was the train cursed? who is the reason behind all of this. And most importantly why she is running instead of facing it and knowing the real answer?

As they reached deep inside the hallway she felt the grip in her hand loosing up and before she can say anything she found herself alone in the new unfamiliar place.

The lights in the underground passage flickered casting long shadows that danced along the cracked walls, as she looked through she saw a photo.

Her hands trembled as she held the photograph—the same girl, the same face, her own. But it wasn’t just a photo. There was writing on the back now, fresh ink that hadn’t been there before.

"Find the one who remembers. Carriage 3. Midnight."

Her heartbeat slowed as if trying to process each word with enough care to not shatter her entirely. She was being led again, guided by invisible strings she couldn’t control. and she follows it though knowing its controlling her. This wasn’t a coincidence. Someone was orchestrating everything. The dreams. The man. The woman. The poster. The train. ticket, key. And now this photo.

She glanced at the time. 11:42 PM.

Her legs moved before her thoughts could catch up, carrying her down the platform of the twisted station once again. The fog coiled around her ankles like vines trying to pull her back, but she kept moving forward. The station seemed darker than before, as if the world was turning off its lights one by one.

Then, she heard it. A faint screech in the distance the ghostly train.

It arrived with no headlights, no warning, just a hiss of steam and the groan of time itself being torn apart.

She stepped aboard.

Carriage 3 was near the center. Her breath was shallow as she passed the first two carriages. Faces behind the fogged-up windows blurred as she walked past faces that looked familiar in a way that scared her more than comforted her. A child she swore she’d seen in her dreams. A woman with a tear sliding down a pale cheek. A man holding a watch, his eyes completely white.

She reached Carriage 3. The door creaked open on its own.

The carriage was mostly empty, except for one figure sitting near the back, staring out the window as though it showed something other than darkness.

She approached slowly.

"Are you the one who remembers?" she asked, her voice cracking.

The figure didn’t move. Then, slowly, he turned his head.

It was a boy no older than seventeen with deep, unreadable eyes and a tired expression that made him look far older. He studied her for a moment, then nodded slowly.

"You’re late," he said, the same words the woman had once whispered.

"You know me?"

"I used to," he murmured. "Before everything was rewritten."

She sat across from him, gripping the photograph tightly. "Rewritten? What do you mean?"

He exhaled, as if he had been waiting a long time to tell someone. "This train… it doesn’t take people places. It takes time back. Loops it. And you… you’ve ridden this train before. More than once. You were searching. And every time you got close to the truth, something reset you."

She swallowed hard. "So I’ve… done this before?"

"Yes. And each time, you lose more of yourself. Your memories, your name, your reality. But I remembered. I kept a piece of you in every loop, hoping one day you’d find me again before it was too late."

She stared at him. "Why me?"

He looked directly into her eyes, pain etched across his face. "Because this whole loop started with you."

The train jolted violently, the lights dying once again. She grabbed the edge of the seat as the walls shook. A deafening scream echoed through the carriage—not hers, not his, but someone else’s.

Then silence.

The boy stood. "We’re close now. The conductor’s compartment. You have to see it."

She followed him, heart pounding, nerves frayed.

They reached the locked door at the very front of the train.

He turned to her. "You still have the key?"

She opened her palm.

The cold metal key shimmered faintly in the dim light.

"It only works when you remember why you took it," he whispered.

She closed her eyes.

A flash.

Rain.

A scream.

A woman bleeding.

A child’s cry.

The key falling.

she snap out and opened her eyes,

She gasped and thrust the key into the lock. It clicked.

The door creaked open.

Inside was not a compartment, but a room filled with clocks. Hundreds of clocks ticking in strange harmony. And at the center, a man sat in an old chair, his face hidden behind a conductor’s hat and an aged mask.

"You weren’t supposed to come this far," the man said in a voice that echoed from somewhere beyond time.

She stepped forward. "Who are you?"

"You knew me once," he replied. "You made a deal. A wish to forget pain. And I granted it. But forgetting comes at a price. The loops are your punishment. And now… you’re remembering."

The boy stood beside her. "Break the loop. Show her the truth."

The conductor slowly removed his mask.

And she screamed.

It was her own face.

Older. Hollow. Broken.

"You wanted to forget yourself," the conductor said. "And you did."

The walls of the train began to dissolve, the clocks melting, the world tilting.

The boy reached for her hand. "You still have time. You can still wake up."

"But what if I don’t want to remember?" she whispered, tears falling.

"Then you’ll keep riding."

She looked at the key in her hand. It was burning now. Glowing.

She took one last look at her future her forgotten self and then turned away.

She ran.

Toward the back of the train. Toward the door that had brought her here.

And as she leapt out

Everything exploded in light.

Light. Blinding. Overwhelming.

Then black.

Her senses slowly returned, like fragments of a shattered mirror being pieced back together. She gasped, her lungs burning like she hadn’t breathed in years. Her eyes fluttered open.

She wasn’t on the train anymore.

She was lying on a cold, cracked floor beneath a ceiling fan that spun lazily, creaking with every turn. The room smelled of old dust and rain-drenched memories. A faint beam of sunlight filtered in through the broken blinds of a window, slicing through the shadows.

She sat up abruptly, heart pounding. Her clothes were damp. Her head ached. Her fingers dug into the dusty ground for support and there it was. The photo. Still in her grip.

And the key. Cold now. Silent.

Where was she?

She pushed herself up and looked around. The room looked like a forgotten waiting lounge, its faded walls lined with wooden benches and vintage posters. One poster caught her attention.

“11:45 Express: A Journey Beyond Time.”

There was no logo. No station name. Just that line.

She moved to the door cautiously and stepped outside.

The world looked… real. But different. The buildings across the street were familiar but older, like they belonged to another decade. The people moved slowly, shadows of purpose etched into their expressions. No one noticed her. No one even glanced her way.

She walked aimlessly, drawn forward by something she didn’t understand. Her reflection in the shop window startled her—it looked like her, but not quite. Her eyes were darker, haunted. She looked older. Not in years, but in experience.

Then she saw it again.

The poster.

Pinned onto a streetlamp, fluttering in the breeze.

Missing: 'Bora Roselynn' Last seen boarding the 11:45 train.

Fresh ink. Clear image.

Her breath caught. She tore it down.

"You made it back," a voice said behind her.

She turned. It was the same boy from Carriage 3.

But how? This wasn’t the train. This was—

"A memory," he said, answering before she could ask. "This is what’s left of the world you forgot. The real one. Before the loop."

She blinked. "I don’t understand. I escaped."

"You escaped the train," he said. "But the loop? That’s deeper. It’s wrapped around your soul like thread. This world isn’t entirely real it’s the bridge. Between waking and returning."

"Then how do I truly wake up?"

He looked down. "You have to remember the moment you chose to forget. The original moment."

A sharp pain pierced her temple. A sound. Screeching tires. Rain. Blood on her hands.

"No," she gasped. "I don’t want to—"

"You have to."

She collapsed to her knees, clutching her head as visions overwhelmed her.

A night. Running through the rain. Someone calling her name.

A child.

A scream.

A car skidding.

And then her, sitting in the train, asking to forget. To erase the grief that hollowed her out.

Tears flooded her eyes. "It was.. it was my fault… wasn’t it?"

I... i cause it.. I... i am the reason right?

The boy knelt beside her. "Not your fault. But your pain. And you weren’t ready to face it. So the train came to you. Offered you loops instead of healing."

Her hands shook. The key burned in her pocket again.

"I don’t want to ride anymore," she whispered. "I want to go back. To face it. Even if it breaks me."

The boy nodded. "Then you know what to do."

She closed her eyes.

Tightened her grip on the key.

And turned it in the invisible lock inside her mind.

The world split. like the negative energy destroying and New hope of life coming out of it finally.

her body finally feels free' Free from the weight she has been carrying herself inside her till now.

The wind roared.

And she woke up screaming—

On a hospital bed.

A nurse rushed in, calling for a doctor.

She gasped, looking around wildly. Machines beeped. Her arm was hooked to IV drips. A calendar on the wall read a date that felt too recent. Too… now.

Doctors flooded in.

"She’s awake," one said.

Someone entered the room.

A man. Familiar.

Her father.

He looked older. Tired. But his eyes lit up when he saw her.

"You’re back," he choked, holding her hand.

She whispered, voice raspy, "The train…?"

"You were in a coma for weeks," he said. "After the accident. You were gone. We thought we lost you."

The accident. The child. The scream.

Her sister.

Tears flooded her eyes. "I remember… I remember everything." She chocked in her own tears

And for the first time, truly, she was Awake and felt free from everything.

The room felt silent, the sterile scent of antiseptic burned her nose, she feel the feeling of being in reality this time. The beeping of monitors, the soft hum of machinery, and the whisper of curtains shifting nearby filled her ears like music from another world. white walls around her, pale ceiling, and the tender warmth of sunlight trickling through blinds.

She was back.

But back from where?

Her fingers twitched, and she realized something was still clutched in her hand. Her eyes dropped slowly. The key.

The same key from her dreams. Her visions. The train. The screams. The shadows. Everything.

It was no longer cold and metallic. It felt… warm. Almost alive. But real undeniably real.

Doctors went out in a blur. Her father was still inside with her in silent, tears stain dried in his face. he told her she had been in a coma for two months. That she had been found unconscious at an old, abandoned train station after being reported missing for days.

No one knew why she had gone there. There were no security cameras. No witnesses. Only her lying there with a rusted key in her palm and a train ticket dated decades ago.

The train ticket was gone now, replaced with mystery. But the key remained.

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