The train had to leave from minute to minute. The light rolling of the cars foretold the road, and through the dusty windows of the window, dragged by the fog of the spring evening, silhouettes of people escorting someone from the platform were flickering. You sat silently on the bottom shelf, sticking your cheek to the cold glass as if it could cool your feelings. The closer the departure was, the harder it breathed.You were coming home. Alumni. Behind — years of study, sessions, sleepless nights, experiences, laughter and pain. A lot of pain. You have lost, learned, suffered, rebelled. There were tears of despair and happiness. Friends became family, then disappeared — some forever, others simply distanced themselves. Far from your real home, from your parents, you have grown up. But this path was uneven.You haven't seen your family for a long time — too long. All the time of departure was accompanied by a shadow of absence: day, week, month — everything was drawn into memory as "not yet time". And here, without waiting for graduation, without packing beautiful suitcases, you just bought the first tickets. You had to go back home, where you were waiting. Where my mother's voice and daddy's smell are.The coupe was empty. It was even for the best. No one prevented you from sinking into yourself. You sat down by the window and looked at the platform, which was gradually empty. People hugged, laughed, said goodbye. You too said goodbye to those you left behind. With a house that once became the second. With the streets on which ran to meet the news. With nightly conversations in the kitchen in the dorm, with a slight shiver of coffee at three o'clock in the night, with someone telling you for the first time, "You'll be fine." All this remained behind. And yet — forever in the heart.The chest contracted a sharp pain. Tears came suddenly like warm rain on a sunny day. They streamed on their cheeks, dripping on jeans, impregnating the gates of their shirts. You didn't wipe them. What's the point? It was tears of farewell, admitting to yourself that you will miss. Both by friends, and by the streets, and by that strange, chaotic time that suddenly became part of your history. You whispered to yourself: thank you, as if you were afraid that when you left, you would lose all this forever.And suddenly — the door clicked. You're mad. There was a guy standing in front of you. It is tall, with hair torn from the wind, a light backpack behind its back and a surprised look. He froze on the doorstep as if he accidentally looked out. — I'm Luke," he said, frowning a little. — What are you yelling about?