Lami boarded the train at exactly midnight.

She had no memory of buying a ticket. No recollection of arriving at the station. One moment, she had been walking home, exhausted from another long day, and the next, she was here—standing on a dimly lit platform as the train doors slid open, inviting her in.

Something inside her whispered that this wasn’t normal. But another part, a quieter part, told her to step forward.

So she did.

Inside, the train was beautiful—polished floors, plush seats, warm golden lights. Yet, something felt…off. Unnatural.

There were other passengers, but their faces were hazy, like smudges on a canvas. They murmured to one another in voices too soft for her to hear.

She hesitated, lingering by the door till fatigue made her take a seat by the window. Outside, the cityscape was unfamiliar—its streets stretching endlessly into the night, its buildings shaped in ways that defied logic.

A voice beside her broke the silence. “First time on the train?”

She turned. A man sat next to her, his face clear unlike the others. He had a small scar on his jaw and thick dark hair, and when he smiled it reached his deep brown eyes.

“Where is this going?” Lami asked.  

The man chuckled. "That's the question, isn't it?

She frowned. “So…you don’t know either?”

He leaned back, resting his head against the window. “No one does. Not at first.”

The train picked up speed. The city outside blurred into streaks of color.

"This train only appears to people who are lost," the man continued. “Not lost on the street,” He tapped his chest. “Lost in here.” “Your life is at a standstill, isn't it? You keep moving, but you're not really going anywhere.”

Lami stiffened. How could he possibly know that?  

For years, she had been stuck in a loop—work, sleep, rinse and repeat. She had long since abandoned her dreams.

She looked around. Were all the passengers like her? Stuck in their boring routine of a life, waiting for something to change?

“So what happens now?” she asked. 

The man pointed at the window.

Outside, the blurred cityscape had changed. No longer strange and endless, but familiar. A childhood memory. The house she grew up in. The mango tree she used to climb. The laughter of people she hadn’t seen in years.

Her chest tightened.

"The train doesn’t decide where you go," the man said. “You do.”

The train slowed, a gentle bell chimed and the doors slid open, revealing a sunlit street, vibrant and alive. Standing there, waiting for her, was her younger self—bright-eyed, fearless, full of dreams.

Lami stood, her legs trembling. “I don’t understand.”

The man smiled. “This is your stop.”

A lump formed in her throat. The other passengers sat still, their faces blurred, their destinations unknown. Would they ever get off?

She turned back to the open doors. The sunlit street called her name. The child—herself—extended a hand, grinning.

Lami took a shaky breath. “If I step out, will I remember all this?”

The man shrugged. “Does it matter?”

She hesitated. Then, slowly, she reached for the child's hand.

And just as their fingers touched, the train lurched forward again.

A gust of wind rushed through the carriage, and suddenly, the world outside shifted. The sunlight dimmed. The street blurred.

Lami gasped, stumbling back.

The doors began to close.

She spun around to face the man. "What’s happening?!

For the first time, his smile faltered. “You waited too long.”

The open doors slammed shut and the girl—her younger self—vanished into the blur.

Lami pressed her hands against the glass. “No, no, no—wait!”

But the train had already moved on.

The man sighed. “You missed your stop.”

Lami turned to him, breathless with tears in her eyes and an ache in her heart. "What do I do now?"  

He studied her for a moment. Then, softly—  

“You wait for another.”