┇➥⃝☕️ Jack the Ripper.

The rain beats down on the old station with a force that seems to make it tremble. The man takes shelter under the rusty roof, his coat soaked, a cup of lukewarm tea in his hands. He has arrived there following an abandoned track, carrying a worthless ticket and the feeling of fleeing a past that still haunts him. The clock stopped at 7:42 p.m. reinforces the impression of being trapped in a time that no longer moves forward.

Through the curtain of rain, a woman runs toward the platform, clutching her backpack to her chest. Soaked and shivering, she surveys the scene, initially unaware of him, until their eyes meet in a silent greeting. She sits down a short distance away, and the sound of the rain fills the void between them, a silence that feels more comfortable than strange.

He senses her coldness, her weariness, and ends up speaking. —It doesn't usually rain that much around here.

She replies gently: —I didn't know that. It's my first time passing through this place.

He nods: —There's not much to see, except the rain.

—Sometimes that's enough. She says.

Her words surprise and comfort him. They both seem to be fleeing from different things, yet they share the same solitude suspended between the raindrops. When he sees her rubbing her hands together again, he dares to offer her his cup. —Would you like some tea, my lady? It's a bit cold now, but… it'll still trick your body.

She hesitates for a moment.