Six Minutes at Platform 12
Written by Storyora
The 8:36 to Whitestone was delayed again. She hated this platform. Platform 12 was too narrow, always too crowded, and the coffee cart at the far end had run out of oat milk three days in a row. Nora exhaled slowly, clutching a lukewarm cup anyway, watching pigeons fight over a crust near the tracks.
Then he appeared. Not dramatically, not like in the movies. Just… stood next to her. Reading a paperback. Denim jacket, worn boots, hair like he cut it himself. He didn’t look up.
"You're blocking the breeze," she said before thinking.
He looked up. Smiled. "Didn't realize the air had real estate."
"It's London. Everything does. Even wind."
They both chuckled. She wasn't sure why. It had been a hard week, and she didn’t smile easily anymore. She didn’t expect conversation—especially not with strangers.
Strangers, Briefly
"What are you reading?" she asked, nodding at the book.
He flipped the cover. “Stoner” by John Williams.
"Heavy," she said.
"Quietly devastating," he replied. "Like this station."
She laughed—really laughed this time. Then the announcement: the train would arrive in six minutes.
"Going to Whitestone?" he asked.
"No. Eastbound change at Chapel Hill. You?"
"Nowhere special. Just riding until something makes sense."
She tilted her head. "That's either poetic or deeply unhinged."
"Bit of both. Maybe we all are."
The Kind of Silence That Doesn’t Need Filling
They stood in silence. A pigeon walked too close to the edge. She watched him kick a stone gently away from its path. He caught her glance. Shrugged. "I root for the small ones."
She didn’t know what compelled her to speak, but she did. "I was supposed to be married last fall. Didn’t happen."
He nodded, not pitying, just present. "I was supposed to move to Canada two years ago. Also didn’t happen."
"Life is stubborn that way."
"Yeah. Has a strange sense of humor."
The announcement blared again. Two minutes.
“If We’d Met Sooner”
She hesitated, then turned to him. "If we had met at a different time..."
He smiled. "We might’ve ruined each other. Or saved each other."
She nodded slowly. "Maybe both."
The Goodbye
The train pulled in with a gust of wind and steel. People moved around them like water parting around stone.
"Take care," she said.
"You too, Nora."
She paused. "I didn’t tell you my name."
He just smiled and stepped onto the train. Doors closed. Gone.
After
Years later, she'd still think of him. The boy with the book. The denim jacket. The knowing smile. She never saw him again. But she never forgot those six minutes on Platform 12.
Sometimes, the briefest encounters echo the loudest.
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