Update: I better clarify this upfront - I’m writing as a woman here.

* * * * *

“Aren’t you gonna give me a hug?”

It’s hard to resist, especially when I’m looking into those soulful eyes. Maybe I should - he really needs it. I guess I need it too.

It always feels comforting clinging tightly onto him, leaning on his wide chest, feeling his arms wrap firmly but gently around me, as I catch a bit of his distinct scent…

“Instinct,” I tried to tell him the other time, “it’s just instinct.”

But instinct wasn’t good enough for him, for he was one who needed to understand why, and instinct was too fuzzy, too nebulous, too misty an explanation for that penetrating mind of his.

Maybe he was just too serious. Too passionate, too intense, even for someone like me.

Or perhaps, I’m too afraid to lose him, the way I lost the others because those relationships didn’t quite work out. No, I cannot lose him. He’s the only one who’s come so close, who really understands me, whom I can really connect with. I must not lose him…

“Your train is here,” I whisper, releasing my hold as the train approached.

“The next one,” he says with finality.

I don’t mind at all, so I cling on again.

After so many tumultous weeks, it finally looks like he’s accepted the fact that it was not to be. Or shall I say, he’s resigned to that fact.

I still see the resignation in those tear-brimmed eyes, the intense disappointment choking his forlorn soul, when it finally sunk in that I would never, ever, ever, be in a romantic relationship with him. I had to assure him that I love him deeply as a friend, but never romantically, and he had to give it up. I suppose it was my repeated insistence that finally convinced him, since he couldn’t take instinct as a valid reason.

Today marks a new chapter in our lives, now that things are finally clear to him. Those 2 difficult hours at our favourite Italian cafe just now were certainly worth the pain. We can finally be the closest and bestest of friends, without the complications of a romantic relationship…

It feels good as he stealthily draws a breath through my hair. He likes the scent of my hair, but he’s just too shy to admit it, just as I won’t admit my secret delight in him inhaling me in…

“Please stand behind the yellow line,” the familiar recoded female voice sounds throughout the station.

A train is approaching. I need to go.

It’s hard to push him away, even gently, as I know he doesn’t want to go. But I know he’s a man of his word - the next train is here, and he will go.

“Your train is here, and I have to go,” I glance at my watch, “it’s almost 4:30.”

It hurts to see those eyes brimming with tears, and I know mine will soon follow.

“Goodbye.”

He must be too emotional to respond.

It doesn’t matter. I have to go. Fast. Don’t think. Can’t let him see me tearing. Don’t look back. Keep walking. He’ll be ok, I’m sure. He’ll be ok…

But I look back, when the screams of a woman and the squeal of the train hits my ears.

And I see those soulful eyes again, looking back at me, just as the train hits him.

I scream out loud.

So loud, that it wakes me up.

It’s 4:30am, but I doubt I can get back to sleep.

I hope he’s ok.

* * * * *

Fiction. Obviously.

* * * * *

I’m writing as a woman, in case you’re still wondering.
And I’ve done it such that there are many gaps in the story for your mind to fill in.
Tell me if it works, or which parts you don’t get.

* * * * *

update:
mis_nomer tries her hand at writing a similar story, but as a guy.