Wrong Train Theory
I had been looking forward to that trip for weeks. My suitcase was packed the night before. I had chosen my favorite clothes, downloaded a playlist for the journey, and even bought a book I had been saving for the train. It was supposed to be a simple holiday—a few quiet days away from deadlines, crowded streets, and everything that had been weighing on me. That morning, I arrived at the station ridiculously early. There was something beautiful about stations when you were going somewhere you wanted to be. The announcements, the smell of coffee, the sound of wheels rolling over the platform—everything felt like the beginning of a story. When the train arrived, I hurried inside, found a window seat, and smiled as the city slowly disappeared behind me. For the first hour, I was happy. I watched buildings turn into fields. I took pictures of the sky. I drank my coffee and imagined the hotel waiting for me, the little cafés I would visit, and the sunset I had promised myself I would watch ...
