Our Last Hug at the Train Station

I didn’t expect to cry. I thought I had everything under control—my emotions, my face, my voice. I stood there at the train station trying to appear composed, like this was just a temporary goodbye. Like you were just going away for a little while.

You weren’t.

We both knew it.

Still, we played along. You held your backpack tightly in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. The drink had gone cold hours ago, but you held it anyway, like letting go of it would make everything too real.

The train wasn’t even there yet, and still I felt the pressure of time pressing against my chest.

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📍 The Unspoken Words

You smiled the same way you always did when you didn’t know what to say—half-tilted, soft, a little sad. I used to think you only smiled like that when you were tired, but I know better now. That smile meant you were afraid of words you couldn’t take back.

Neither of us said what we wanted to say. Not exactly. You told me, “Take care of yourself,” and I said, “Message me when you reach.” Both of us nodding like we hadn’t said those words a hundred times before, even after ordinary visits.

But this time was different. This time, you weren’t coming back.

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🕒 The Wait

We watched the digital screen above the platform, pretending to care about the arrival time. Five minutes. Then four. Then three.

I tried to remember your face exactly. Not the way a camera would capture it, but the way it felt when I looked at you. The small scar near your left eyebrow. The way your lashes curled a little at the edges. The way you always shifted your weight onto your right foot when you were nervous.

I wanted to freeze it all—not just the image of you, but the weight of the moment. The ache of knowing we were both avoiding the obvious.

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🤝 The Hug

When the train finally pulled in, it wasn’t loud. It felt quieter than it should’ve been, like the world knew how fragile we were.

You looked at me and opened your arms. No words. No final speech. Just a gesture we’d shared a hundred times.

But this hug was different.

You held on longer. Tighter. Your fingers pressed into my back like you were trying to memorize my shape. My heartbeat echoed in my ears, but I kept still. I didn’t want to let go either.

I could feel you shaking, just slightly. Like your body betrayed the calm expression on your face. I wanted to ask you to stay. I wanted you to ask me to come with you. But neither of us did.

Because we both knew we couldn’t.

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🌫️ The Aftermath

When you stepped onto the train, you didn’t look back right away. You placed your bag near the seat, fixed your jacket, and then finally turned.

You waved with that same half-smile. The train began to move, and I stood there, rooted to the cold concrete floor. You disappeared behind the blur of the window. A few seconds later, the train turned the corner and was gone.

Just like that.

It didn’t feel dramatic. It felt painfully normal. Like losing something slowly, one breath at a time.

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🧳 What We Didn’t Say

There were so many things left unsaid. I never told you that the way you laughed at your own jokes made my day better. You never told me why you always brought two cups of coffee, even though I hated the taste. We didn’t say “I love you.” Maybe we didn’t have to.

Maybe the hug said it for us.

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🕯️ What Stays Behind

I think about that day more often than I admit. The sound of trains still pulls me back into that moment. I sometimes wonder if you think about it too. If you remember how tightly we held each other, how carefully we avoided saying goodbye like it would somehow stop it from being real.

But life moves on. People move on.

And yet… some hugs stay with you forever.