Ten Seconds Before the Train Arrives

Ten seconds.

The station smells of rain-soaked concrete and old newspapers. Somewhere down the track, metal wheels hum like a distant storm. The display says Arrival: 0:00, but the train hasn’t yet broken through the tunnel’s mouth.

In these ten seconds, the world holds its breath.

Second 1 – The Musician

He grips his violin case, thumb rubbing the worn brass latch. His last performance in this city ended hours ago, but he’s still hearing the applause. He wonders if they clapped for him, or for the escape his music gave them. He thinks of the phone call waiting at the other end of the line—a conservatory in another country. Yes or no. Stay or go.

Second 2 – The Woman in the Red Coat

She watches her reflection in the dark tunnel. It’s been six months since she saw him last, standing on another platform in another city. The divorce papers are signed. She’s not sure why she took the coat he once bought her. It feels like armor, and maybe, just maybe, like permission.

Second 3 – The Boy with the Suitcase

The suitcase is bigger than he is. His father’s hand rests on his shoulder, heavy and warm. They’re leaving tonight, flying far away, chasing a job that promises more zeros than anyone in his family has ever seen. He doesn’t care about numbers. He just wants to know if the new city will have the same kind of stars.

Second 4 – The Man with the Letter

The envelope in his pocket is damp with sweat. It’s been there for three weeks, sealed, addressed to someone who thinks he’s already dead. The words inside are all apology and no excuses. He knows he has to deliver it in person. He also knows she might not open the door.

Second 5 – The Girl with the Camera

Her camera’s memory card is almost full, crammed with strangers’ faces caught between heartbeats. She believes every face hides a poem, but the poems are better when the subjects never know they’ve been seen. She raises the lens toward the tunnel, ready to capture the first glimpse of the train’s arrival—ready for something she doesn’t have to explain.

Second 6 – The Man with the Coffee Stain

The stain spreads across his shirt like a bruise. He thinks about the meeting he’s late for, the boss who won’t forgive him, the quiet apartment waiting for him tonight. He wishes for something unpredictable to happen—something that will make him forget the coffee, the meeting, the everything.

Second 7 – The Elderly Woman with the Locket

Her hands tremble as she touches the silver locket at her throat. Inside is a face she hasn’t seen in sixty years. She’s going back to the town where she first kissed him on a platform just like this one. She knows the buildings will be different, but maybe the wind will still smell like lilacs.

Second 8 – The Teenager with the Broken Phone

His phone screen is spiderwebbed with cracks, unread messages glowing faintly. He wants to text her again, but she’s already left him on read. He wonders if she’ll ever walk back into his life the way she walked out—without warning, like summer rain.

Second 9 – The Man with the Watch

He checks his watch even though the station clock is right in front of him. It was his father’s watch, and the second hand sticks every now and then. He thinks about how some moments should last longer, but never do. He doesn’t know it yet, but tomorrow he’ll stop wearing it.

Second 10 – The Poet

She’s scribbling in a notebook, writing about how time feels different when you know it’s about to run out. She’s never met the musician, the woman in red, the boy with the suitcase, the man with the letter, the girl with the camera, the man with the coffee stain, the elderly woman with the locket, the teenager with the broken phone, or the man with the watch.

But she’s writing them anyway.

Because the train is almost here, and in ten seconds, they’ll all be moving again.

The tunnel breathes a gust of warm air. Lights bloom in the dark. The rails scream, and the platform shivers.

The train arrives.

And just like that, the moment is gone.