A Stranger at Platform 9

Platform 9 was never anyone’s final destination. It was a place people passed through—briefcases in hand, headphones on, eyes fixed on digital boards flashing arrival times. The trains came and went with mechanical precision, carrying stories that rarely crossed paths. For Sameer, that morning was supposed to be ordinary. He was traveling to the city for a job interview he wasn’t sure he would pass.

He arrived early, choosing a bench beneath a flickering light. The winter air carried a sharp chill, and steam rose from paper cups of tea held by impatient commuters. Sameer clutched a thin folder containing his resume. He had applied to dozens of positions over the past year, each rejection carefully archived in his email inbox like quiet evidence of inadequacy.

As the train announcement echoed across the platform, an elderly man sat beside him. He wore a simple gray coat and carried no luggage, only a small leather notebook tucked under his arm. His expression was calm, observant. For several minutes, they sat in silence, watching people rush past.

“You look like someone carrying more than papers,” the stranger said gently.

Sameer offered a polite smile but said nothing at first. Then, perhaps because the man’s tone held no judgment, he replied, “Interview.”

The stranger nodded. “Important?”

“Yes,” Sameer admitted. “Or at least I hope so.”

The train arrived with a metallic screech, and they boarded the same compartment. Seats filled quickly. By coincidence or fate, the stranger sat across from Sameer. As the train began moving, the rhythm of wheels against tracks created a steady hum.

“What do you fear most?” the stranger asked casually, as if discussing the weather.

“Failure,” Sameer answered before thinking. “I’m tired of it.”

The man opened his notebook and flipped through pages filled with handwritten observations. “Interesting,” he said. “Most people fear embarrassment. Or judgment. Failure is simply an event.”

Sameer frowned slightly. “It doesn’t feel simple.”

“No,” the stranger agreed. “It never does in the moment. But consider this: every person on this train is heading somewhere uncertain. Some will succeed today. Some will not. But none will stop traveling.”

The conversation felt unusual, yet grounding. Sameer found himself explaining his doubts—how he compared himself to former classmates, how rejection emails chipped away at confidence. The stranger listened carefully, never interrupting.

“Do you know why trains run on tracks?” the man asked suddenly.

“To reach their destination?”

“Yes,” he smiled, “but also because they cannot steer. Humans can. If one path closes, you adjust direction. The mistake is believing one interview defines the journey.”

As the train approached the city, the skyline emerged through fog. Sameer felt a shift in his chest—not sudden confidence, but perspective. The interview was significant, but not final. It was one platform among many.

Before disembarking, the stranger tore a small page from his notebook and handed it to Sameer. On it was written: “Measure yourself by growth, not outcome.” Beneath the sentence was a name and title—Retired Director, Human Resources.

Sameer looked up, surprised. “You work in recruitment?”

“Worked,” the man corrected gently. “For forty years. I rejected thousands of candidates. Not because they lacked worth, but because roles were limited. Rejection rarely measures potential.”

The doors opened. Passengers poured out. The stranger stepped onto the platform and blended into the crowd without another word.

The interview that followed was not perfect. Sameer stumbled once, paused to collect his thoughts, then answered honestly. He focused less on impressing and more on clarity. When it ended, he felt steady, regardless of the result.

A week later, an email arrived. He had not been selected. For a brief moment, disappointment returned. Then he remembered Platform 9. He reread the note he had kept in his wallet. Measure yourself by growth, not outcome.

Instead of retreating, Sameer applied again—to new companies, new roles. Months later, he secured a position better suited to his skills than the first had been. Success arrived quietly, built on resilience rather than one victory.

Years afterward, Sameer still traveled through stations for work. Whenever he passed Platform 9, he paused briefly, remembering the stranger who shifted his perspective during a simple train ride.