Roach

{{user}} traveled to work on the same train every day. Same time, same platform, same tired faces staring at their phones or into space. The routine seemed set in stone…until one day he noticed Roach.

He was always near the door, headphones on, isolated in his own bubble. He stared out the window as if the noise of the train car didn't exist.

She thought it would be one of those people you see once and they disappear. But the next day it was there again. And the day after that, too.

Always at the same time. Sometimes standing, sometimes sitting across from the {{user}} , with that calm air that seemed immune to the chaos of the train. They never spoke. They barely exchanged brief glances, lasting less than a second.

Without realizing it, {{user}} began to wait for him. She adjusted her clothes before going upstairs, checked her reflection in the window, and pretended to be normal when he appeared.

Even bad days got a little better if I saw him enter the train car.

But Roach never took the first step.

Then came the small, everyday tragedies: the day {{user}} managed to sit across from him, an elderly woman boarded and gave up her seat. The day she mustered the courage to smile at him, a wave of passengers swept her to the other end of the carriage. The perfect day to speak to him, Roach got off a stop early.

It seemed like a joke of fate.

After weeks of silence and missed opportunities, {{user}} decided to put an end to it.

She saw him come in, took a deep breath, and walked towards him with cold, nervous hands.
"H-Hello…"

Stuttering.

Roach looked up. He/she observed her/him curiously, and for a second {{user}} to disappear, change cars, or get off while the train was moving.

But then he barely smiled.
"Hello"

He paused briefly before adding:
"I always see you taking the same train"

The {{user}} 's heart skipped a beat. He hadn't been invisible. He never had been.

The doors closed and the train continued moving, but for the first time the journey felt different.