Beautiful Stranger | By Lim Zhen Ping
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| by @charlottelkaix & @kckayden0828 |
It started on an ordinary Tuesday morning—grey skies hanging low, the air thick with the scent of damp pavement and brewed coffee. I boarded the 7:15 train like I always did, settling into my usual spot by the window. The city blurred past in streaks of muted colour, and I let my mind drift through the usual thoughts—assignment deadlines, grocery lists, and half-finished dreams. Then, I saw him.
He was by the train's doors, just close enough to notice but far enough to be untouchable. His dark hair fell in soft waves over his forehead, and the faint hum of music escaped from his earbuds, making his world feel like a private one. I wondered what he was listening to. Maybe it was something he loved or just background noise. Of course, I didn’t ask. Instead, I watched him the way people do when they're too shy to speak, admiring the way he seemed lost in his own little universe, unaffected by the chaos around us.
The train rattled forward, and for the next twenty minutes, I found myself caught in the quiet thrill of stolen glances. I told myself it was nothing, just a passing curiosity, the kind that comes and goes with the morning commute. But when the doors slid open to greet the next station, and he stepped off without a second glance, I felt the smallest pang of disappointment in my chest.
The next day, I caught the same train. The same routine, the same faces, the same stop. But from that day on, I started looking for him. Just one glimpse. Just enough to convince myself I wasn’t imagining him.
Without fail, He was there. Standing at the same spot, the soft beat of his music streaming through the air around us. I wondered if he noticed me too, or if I was just another face in the crowd. I never said anything. I never needed to. In a way, that was the beauty of it—this small, innocent connection that existed only in the quiet space between us.
Quietly, the next few days passed in a rhythm. I would board the train, find my place by the window, and wait for him to appear. Each time, my heart would flutter just a bit when I saw him. Always, he stood near the door as if the journey was as much about escape as it was about getting somewhere. I imagined he was waiting for something—an answer, maybe, or a person. Or it's just another reason to be somewhere else than here.
One morning, I stepped onto the train, expecting the same routine. But his seat was empty. The familiar feeling of his presence was gone, and I felt a strange emptiness settle in my chest. I looked around, hoping maybe I had just missed him. But no matter where or how much I turned my head, he was nowhere to be seen.
As I sat down, a melody entered my ears. Softly, Beautiful Stranger by Laufey started to play through my headphones. The song felt like a perfect match for the moment—the loving longing in the lyrics echoing what I felt as I stared out the window, watching the city fade by. He didn’t come that day. Or the day after that.
And just like that, I never saw him again. His seat remained empty like a chapter left half-done in a book I’d never get to finish. A quiet sadness seeped into me, knowing that whatever story we might have had was never meant to be.
The train carried on its way, as trains do—moving forward, passing by everything and everyone in a blur. The crush I’d built in my mind—the imagined conversations, the unspoken connection—disappeared like the fading station signs in the distance.
Somewhere between the rhythm of the moving train and the shifting light of the morning sky, I realised that I didn’t need to know his name or anything else about him. That brief encounter had been its own kind of beauty. Sometimes, longing was enough. The love that came and left with the train was a love that never had to be anything more than a feeling, a fleeting moment suspended in time.
As the train came to my stop, I added Beautiful Stranger to my playlist. A small reminder of a stranger who once made my morning commute feel just a little less ordinary.
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