Cold Subway, Love Reunion

The bitter December wind whipped around Julie as she descended into the Union Square subway station, her coffee clutched tightly in her red, green and gold-mittened hands. Christmas lights twinkled overhead, strung across shop windows like tiny stars fallen to earth. The holiday season in New York always filled her with a peculiar mix of joy and melancholy—like a snow globe someone had shaken, leaving glitter suspended in the air.

Today, that feeling sat heavier in her chest than usual. Something is off.

The platform was crowded with holiday shoppers, their arms laden with bags from Nordstrom, Macy’s and Bloomingdale’s. Julie checked her watch – still ten minutes until the next downtown train. She sipped her peppermint mocha, savoring the warmth that spread through her chest.

That’s when she saw him.

Across the tracks, on the uptown platform, stood Damon. Her heart stuttered in her chest. He wore a familiar white button-down, but this one was decorated with tiny reindeer instead of flamingos, his self-professed spirit animal. A smile tugged at her lips despite herself. Some things never changed.

He was looking down at his phone, utterly oblivious to her presence. The same sharp jawline, the same way he shifted his weight from foot to foot when he was impatient. Three years had passed since that summer day when she’d run from him, tears streaming down her face, but time seemed to fold in on itself like origami.

The memory of their last fight rose unbidden in her mind. The words they’d hurled at each other like weapons, her confession about the job offer in San Francisco, his ultimatum about staying in New York. Both of them too stubborn, too scared to bend.

“The next uptown train is now approaching,” crackled the announcement overhead.

Julie watched Damon pocketing his phone and stepping closer to the platform edge. She could call out to him. Wave. Make some gesture to bridge the gap between them. But what would she say? Sorry, I chose my career over us? Sorry, I was too young and terrified to try making it work long-distance?

The train rushed into the station, and Julie felt the familiar blast of displaced air. Through the windows, she caught fragmented glimpses of him as the cars passed—his profile illuminated by harsh fluorescent light, then hidden by the metal between cars, then visible again—like a film reel playing in reverse, showing her all the moments they’d lost.

He stepped into the train without ever looking up, without ever knowing she was there.

“Stand clear of the closing doors!”

The doors closed with a decisive thunk.

Julie’s hands trembled as she lifted her coffee cup to her lips, but the liquid had gone cold. A group of subway performers had set up nearby – their brass instruments gleaming under the fluorescent lights as they launched into “It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year.” The trumpeter wore a Santa hat, tilted rakishly to one side, while the trombonist had wrapped tinsel around his instrument. Any other day, their holiday jazz might have made her smile, drop a few dollars in their open case. Today, the cheerful melody felt almost mocking.

Her phone buzzed. A text from her boss in San Francisco: “Quarterly projections look amazing. Best decision we ever made bringing you on board!”

Julie stared at the message, then back at the now-empty platform across the tracks. The best decision. Was it? She’d built the life she’d wanted – senior marketing director by thirty, corner office with a view of the Bay Bridge, a gorgeous apartment in Pacific Heights. But on nights when she couldn’t sleep, when the fog rolled in thick enough to blur the city lights, she still found herself thinking about summer days in Washington Square Park, about flamingo shirts and dancing and the way Damon’s eyes crinkled when he laughed.

When her downtown train pulled in, Julie hardly noticed as she stepped aboard and found a seat. Next to her, a woman was wrapping a gift on her lap—her efforts were awkward due to the train’s swaying, yet she pressed on. The wrapping paper featured cartoon ghosts with bright red noses like Rudolph’s.

Ghosts, Julie thought. That’s what this feels like. Being haunted by the ghost of what could have been.

Taking advantage of a tiny WI-fi window at the next station, she pulled out her phone and opened Instagram. She’d blocked Damon’s account years ago, but she still remembered his handle. Her thumb hovered over the search bar.

Don’t do it, she told herself. You made your choice.

But it was Christmas, and the city was full of lights and music and magic, and maybe some small part of her still believed in miracles. She typed in his username.

His profile opened. The latest post dated back two days— a video showcasing him instructing a dance class. He moved with the same graceful fluidity she recalled, guiding his students through the steps. The caption stated: “Final beginner salsa class this year! Thank you to everyone who joined us for dancing in 2024. New classes begin January 5th at Washington Square Studio.”

“Stand clear of the closing doors!”

Julie’s stop came and went. She barely noticed.

January 5th. She was supposed to be back in San Francisco by then. She had meetings scheduled, projects to oversee, and a whole life waiting for her on the other side of the country. But sitting there, watching Damon frozen on her tiny phone screen, all she could think about was that summer day three years ago, when she’d let fear drive her choices.

Maybe it was time to make a different choice. Maybe it was time to be brave.

At the next station, with urgency, her fingers moved across the screen before she could second-guess herself and before the internet connection dropped. She clicked the link in his bio, found the class registration page. Beginning Salsa, Saturdays at 2 PM. Her heart pounded as she filled out the form, entered her credit card information.

The confirmation email arrived instantly: “Welcome to Washington Square Studio! We look forward to dancing with you.”

Just before the train doors closed again, she darted off. Moving as if in a trance, New Yorkers streaming impatiently around her, she climbed the station stairs, crossed over to the other side and slipped onto the next train heading back uptown. She had a flight to cancel, a boss to call, and a leap of faith to take.

As she emerged from the subway station, snow began to fall – fat, lazy flakes that melted as soon as they touched the ground. Looking around, she could have sworn she heard laughter in the wind – not mocking, but elated. Like someone, somewhere, was dancing for joy.

In her mind’s eye, she saw her reunion with Damon playing out like a movie: walking into that studio on January 5th, seeing his face freeze mid-instruction as their eyes met. The gradual thaw as recognition turned to possibility. This time, there would be no running. Instead, there would be tentative steps toward each other, both on and off the dance floor. Coffee after class becoming dinner, becoming late-night walks through their old haunts. Building something new from the fragments of what they’d lost, stronger now because they knew its worth.

Julie closed her eyes, letting snowflakes kiss her upturned face, and whispered the same prayer Damon once invoked to his brother: “Let it be. Please, just let it be.”