Parallel Lines And Trains

• Siti Aminah Mohd. Ali, Grade 8
• Short Story
• 2013

He was always there, eight o’clock sharp, a sling bag resting on his left shoulder, a disposable cup in his right hand.
He was always preoccupied with his watch, his phone, basically anything that would consume the time until his train came. It was a strange sadness, enjoying watching him quietly but hoping, with little to none, that he would look up and notice I was watching him. A part of me relieved that I could watch him all I wanted.
I’d continue staring as trains rushed past, the wind playing with my hair while the strong breeze slapped me in the face with a cold sting. Strands would dance restlessly before laying to rest.
I would shift them out of my face and continue with my watching.
A habit… A hobby…. It was routine now.
Platform two was empty as it always was as I set myself down in my usual spot. The bench was cold in the morning, a chilly reminder of the day ahead.
The morning rays shined down on the quiet platforms and I relished in the silence of mornings like this.
By seven-thirty, platforms were beginning to fill and he was going to arrive soon.
Eight o’clock sharp and he was walking down the stairs, coffee in hand and papers in the other. He didn't have to look where he was going, he just knew.
It was fascinating watching someone’s habits arise from daily activity. I hardly knew him, heck, I didn't even know his name but I knew the little habits that were a part of him, the little niches that no one seems to notice until they look closely. The little quirks in behaviour that weren't obvious until it was pointed out. I knew them all.
His smile was slightly crooked when he was really happy, crinkling the corners and twitching his nose, his eyes shining. His hands would twitch slightly when he was annoyed and in turn he would ruffle his slicked back hair. His eyes would be vacant when he didn't know how to cut off awkward conversation with a bubbly train-goer. His feet would tap restlessly, ac chaotic and scattered rhythm, when he realised the train was late.
The little twitches of his facial muscles to the hand gestures… I had picked up… yet I didn't even know his name. We were just two people going in directions that would never cross. Two parallel lines on a page that would never meet.