DEPARTURES

"Anywhere here will do," Lila urged, flicking her eyes between the street and her phone: on and off, on and off. 11:55. The car inched forward. The ignition clicked to the rhythm of the driver chewing gum.

"Can't stop here. It's for black cabs only," he muttered. "Busy, busy. Always busy." He laughed to himself.

Lila tapped her foot. 11:56.

"Sir. I'm going to miss my train."

She unfastened her seatbelt; it snapped back against the leather, slightly damp from her sweat. Without waiting for a reply, she pushed open the door.

The car screeched to a halt. "Careful, miss!" the driver barked, like scolding a child. "Tsk, tsk. Everyone so impatient."

Lila swung her duffle bag over her shoulder and sprinted toward the station. Her boots clicked against the pavement. A busker's melancholy accordion tune drifted in the air. A cat whined from inside a carrier. Wind blew into her face, whipping her hair into her glasses.

"Platform 4. 12:00," she muttered to herself, meandering around a pack of school kids slouched on backpacks.

The scent of bitter coffee and stale croissants enveloped her. Platform 1. Platform 2. Platform 3. 11:58. Her duffle bag slipped off her shoulder as she picked up the pace, puffing her cheeks to blow hair from her eyes.

Platform 4. The train was already there. She checked her phone again. 11:59.

"Phew."

She boarded the train and was met with a momentary stillness. The chaos of the station evaporated behind her.

She pressed the door button to a carriage. It lit up in playful colours and played a bright, tinkling tune.

"Random," she murmured.

The door flung open. Gone was the grey station. The carriage was a kaleidoscope of lime green, cherry red, Fanta orange and mermaid blue. The air smelled like shampoo, warm milk and birthday cake — candles just blown out.

Children wriggled, shouted, giggled. Bubbles floated near the ceiling. Parents tucked prams into racks. There were no suitcases in sight.

Lila dragged her duffle bag down the corridor, careful not to step on a pile of building blocks. A few heads turned, some children stared at her. She smiled back, found a lone seat painted like a toadstool and dropped into it.

Usually, she chose the quiet coach. But she was just glad to have made it. The train jolted forward.

Her phone pinged.

Mum: Just received your framed graduation picture!

1 Attachment: Lila holding her degree scroll, smiling.

Mum: We chose Walnut over Mahogany.

Lila rolled her eyes. Graduation was over. It was September now. She was heading to an internship in France.

A child sticking googly eyes onto the window caught her eye. The eyes trembled as the train started.

12:00. No delays.

She looked around. The carriage was chaos and comfort all at once. She felt too old here. But applying to jobs had made her feel so young.

The train picked up speed. The suburbs blurred into blocks of colour, like a crayon drawing. The sky was too blue for a British September. The motion made her dizzy.

Children shrieked with joy.

"Whee!"

"Woo!"

"Ahh!"

Lila buried her face in her hands.

A few minutes later she was tapped on the shoulder.

A woman in a bright red dress, freckles drawn on and ribbons trailing behind her. "Ticket, please!"

Lila showed the ticket on her phone.

A beep. Not the good kind.

"Hmm," said the woman.

"It's Little Red Riding Hood!" a child shouted.

The woman waved, then turned back. "You're in the wrong carriage, dear. This one's for young families only. You need to move to the next one."

"Yeah, I figured." Lila sighed, reaching for her bag.

She pushed her way back to the door that was already open and entered the small vestibule between carriages.

Lila pressed the button to the next carriage. This time, the tune was warped — as though it was played underwater. The door shuddered, as if reluctant, before it slid open.

She stepped through.

The air was sharp and cold, tinged with disinfectant and that strange, sour scent of metal.

The lights were white — too white — buzzing faintly overhead.

Heads down. Headphones in. Laptops open.

Rows of sleek rucksacks and gleaming suitcases.

She slid into a table seat, careful not to disturb the quiet rhythm of typing and scrolling. Reflections bounced off glasses. Everyone swayed with the train like seaweed caught in a slow current.

The motion of the train felt slower here.

Her throat itched.

She looked at the water bottles. All untouched.

She leaned toward a boy in a beanie, scrolling through what looked like LinkedIn over and over.

"Hey," she whispered. "Could I have some water? I need to take a tablet."

He didn’t look up.

Others did — briefly. Then returned to their screens. Expressionless.

Lila sank back, cheeks burning.

The air was too dry. She tugged at the collar of her shirt. She missed the other carriage.

There, people had laughed, smiled at her.

She checked her phone. 12:39. She should be near the airport by now.

Suddenly, the train hissed and slowed.

A platform appeared — but no signs of runways, towers, or planes. Just a long, corrugated metal building.

The carriage stirred. People stood. In unison.

Phones in hand.

Headphones still in.

Lila hesitated, then followed. The door to the previous carriage reflected only the sky. She couldn’t see through it anymore.

As they moved, she glimpsed another carriage further along the train — its door locked, its windows dark. Something about it pricked her skin. She turned away quickly.

They walked together toward the building. Above it, a sign:

DEPARTURES

Lila clutched her bag tighter. The wind blew back the way she'd come.

She stopped. Turned.

The train groaned into motion. No announcement. No whistle.

In the last carriage, a child had pressed their face to the window. They held up a googly eye and stuck it to the glass.

Then another.

And another.

The child waved.

Lila felt something pinch her chest — a memory, maybe. Or a goodbye.

She raised her hand. Not quite a wave. Just a breath of one.

The train was gone.

She turned back to the building.

The wind fell still.

She took a deep breath.

And stepped forward.