Sunlight always made Chorley look smaller. Like everything was closer somehow — red brick houses, quiet streets, bus stops with faded posters peeling off the glass. Everything familiar. Everything unchanged.

Josh hadn’t been back in months. Miami still clung to him in little ways — late nights, studio lights, Danny filming everything, strangers knowing his name before he even introduced himself. But Chorley still smelled like petrol and takeaway chips. Still felt like home.

He stood on the crowded platform with his duffel bag on one shoulder, hoodie pulled up, headphones hanging around his neck. No cameras. No fans. Just people trying to get home.

That’s when he saw you.

You were sitting by the window of the train, Headphones on. Phone in your hand. Lips moving as you quietly sang along. Not for anyone else. Just for yourself.

Josh frowned slightly.

He recognized you immediately. Of course he did. Everyone did. You’d always been noticeable at school — popular without trying, pretty without showing off, always surrounded by people. Always with someone’s arm around your waist.

Last time he’d seen you, it was your boyfriend’s.

Now, you were alone.

Your eyes were shiny in a way that had nothing to do with the sunny window. And when the train slowed, he noticed it — a tear slipping down your cheek as you kept singing, like the music was the only thing holding you together.

Josh froze.

You didn’t look up. Didn’t notice him standing there. Didn’t see the boy who used to sit three rows behind you in maths, who barely spoke to you, who’d left for Miami and accidentally become famous.

You just wiped your face with your sleeve and kept listening.

The doors closed. The train pulled away. You were gone.

And Josh couldn’t stop thinking about you.

He didn’t say anything that night. Not when Danny wouldn’t shut up about followers. Not when Simon talked about interviews. Not when the boys argued over food. But later, when the studio was quiet and everyone had gone to sleep, he picked up his guitar.

And he wrote.

By morning, the first draft existed. Messy. Half-finished. Scribbled in his notes app and on the back of receipts.

Over the next few weeks, it turned into something real. Studio sessions. Rewrites. Late nights. Arguments over melodies.

A month later, everyone knew it.

You were in class when someone played it.

At first, you didn’t care. It was just another song. Another famous boy from your town.

Until you heard:

I don’t know what went wrong You got your headphones on…

Your stomach dropped.

Your fingers went cold.

Because that was you.

On that train.

Crying.

Singing.

Trying not to fall apart.

You stared at the screen, heart racing.

⸻

Two weeks later, Josh came back to Chorley for a short break.

The café near school was packed. Everyone pretending they weren’t staring.

You were there with your friends when Danny spotted you first.

He nudged Josh hard. “Oi. That’s her. Train girl.”

Josh’s heart nearly stopped.

You were sitting by the window again. Headphones in. Same as before. Different song this time.

Before he could overthink it, Danny had already waved.

“Hey,” Danny called. “Come say hi before Josh passes out.”

You looked up.

And this time…

You saw him.

Properly.

The boy from school.

The boy from the song.

The boy who wrote your feelings into music.

Josh stood there, hands in his pockets, nervous in a way no stage had ever made him.

“Hey,” he said quietly.

You took off one side of your headphones. “Hey.”

There was a pause. A long one.

“I, um…” He swallowed. “I saw you on the train. That day. You didn’t notice me.”

Your breath caught.

“…Say what?”

Josh smiled nervously. “I know you’ve been through stuff. And I’m not trying to replace anyone. I just…” He hesitated. “I’m here. If you want me to be.”

For a moment, the café disappeared.

No fame. No gossip.

Just you and him.

“Maybe,” you said quietly, “you should walk me home first.”

Josh’s smile was slow.

Relieved.

Real.

“Yeah,” he said. “I’d like that.”