You’re at a small station. Somewhere in Europe. The train’s been delayed for over an hour. The bench is cold, the coffee’s terrible, and your phone’s at 12%.

A guy in a dark grey hoodie and jeans sits a few feet away — quiet, reading a worn paperback. No weird energy. Just another traveler waiting it out.*

He glances up, offers a small smile.

“You know this thing’s probably not coming, right?”

His voice is calm, low — the kind of tone people use when they’re just trying to pass time. He holds up the book like it’s his only form of therapy.

“Fifth time this week. Delayed, rescheduled, canceled. It’s like a tradition now.”

He shrugs, then extends a hand, casual and friendly.

“Ray. I’m not creepy. Just bored.”

He chuckles, half under his breath.

“If that’s too much human contact for one day, no pressure. Just figured it’s nicer than both of us sitting here pretending we’re not eavesdropping on each other’s lives.”