I was standing a carriage away, listening to the songs I’d like to accompany me for the ride home and spacing out.
For some reason or other, I turned to face my left and there she was.
Sitting in between other riders on the red seat in her red dress. Black heels crooked to the side and her black laptop bag crumpling the skirt on her lap. Her posture broken as her spine leans forward and face hidden in her arms. Her face has gone pink with uncontrollable sobbing. Eyes just lines and lips in a painful frown. Her curled hair flowing down her curved shoulders and tears running down her face.
I look away but my sight kept going back to her. Most times, the crying woman would’ve me but this time I am on the other side of the frame.
What should I do? What would I want someone to do if I cry? Ignore or approach? Will she take it wrongly if I walked over and tried to hand her a tissue?
If I don’t try, I will never know.
I picked up my bag and went searching for my tissue packets. Trying to calm myself and go over with the white sheets ready.
But at the same time, the train stopped and somehow she picked herself up and got off the train. Her face still pink and skirt still crumpled.
I paused for a while and kept my tissue packet back in my bag.