The platform tiles are
cold through her thin
soles. She stands near
the yellow line, watching
the tunnel's dark mouth.
Her fingers grip the
strap of her bag,
knuckles pale. A gust of
stale air pushes against
her face, and she hears
the distant rumble of the
approaching train. She
checks her phone again—no
new messages. The screen
glows, then fades. The
rumble grows louder, a
metallic groan that fills
her chest. She steps
back an inch, then
forward, unsure. The
train screams to a halt,
doors hiss open. Crowds
surge around her,
brushing her shoulders.
She doesn't move. The
doors begin to close,
and she watches the gap
narrow. Her hand starts
to rise, then stops.