She blinked at me.
“You can take the train with me instead,” I said finally, eyes dropping to the ground, like that would make it sound less like I cared. “It’s slower, but you’ll have a seat. You can sleep since it’s quite late now.”
Her mouth parted a little, not to talk, just that small surprise she does when she’s not sure if she heard me right. Then she grabbed her pen, flipping open her notebook.
I don’t want to bother you.
I frowned, shaking my head. “You’re not. I just—” I sighed. “It’s quieter. That’s all.”
She stared at me for a beat too long, eyes softening in that way that made my stomach twist, then slowly nodded.
Her hands fidgeted with her bag as she packed up her papers, careful, neat. Like she was afraid to make a sound, even in an empty stadium.
She finally stood up and gave this tiny nod, almost a bow, and that was her way of saying thank you.
I nodded back. “Let’s go, princess.”
—
The train hummed low and steady beneath us, rocking just enough to make the lights overhead flicker every few seconds. It wasn’t crowded; a few passengers were scattered around, mostly students or late-night travellers staring at their phones.
She sat next to me. Her bag was tucked neatly by her feet, notebook in her lap, head tilted slightly toward the window.
She looked comfortable.
Really comfortable.
Her shoulders weren’t drawn up like they always were. Her hands weren’t gripping that damn folder for dear life. She wasn’t even glancing around like she was waiting for someone to say something cruel.
Just… breathing.
I should’ve looked away.
I didn’t.
I scrolled through my phone for the sake of doing something. The muted group chat was still going insane about the photo.
I shut my screen off.
Out of the corner of my eye, she moved. Adjusted her seat a little, tugged her sweater sleeve over her hand, resting her cheek against the cool glass. Her lashes brushed the top of her cheek every time she blinked more slowly.
Was she falling asleep again?
I couldn’t tell, but she looked peaceful enough that I didn’t want to breathe too loudly.
For someone who never looked relaxed around me, this… this felt different.
The way her reflection glowed faintly in the window, the way her lips parted just enough as she exhaled, it made something in me unclench.
Like maybe she didn’t see me as the monster I’d been for the past year.
Maybe she was starting to see me as just… me.
When the conductor called out the next stop, she stirred slightly, eyes fluttering open.
“Still got a while,” I said quietly. “You can sleep.”
She turned her head toward me, still dazed. For a heartbeat, we just looked at each other. Her lips quirked up, small, half-asleep, but there.
