They say you meet people because you’re destined to, wherever your roads may meet to cross; crossroads. But then it must be destined too, that those roads leave eachother at some point; crossroads are left behind.

He sat down next to her on the train. She slid closer to the window and stared out the barren, graffiti-torn windows into the passing light absorbed throughout the darkness.
“How have you been?” He looked at her expectantly, his hands sitting awkwardly on his thighs. There was something in his eyes that she could not face, or more would not. She did not feel that he deserved it, but knew that one deserving to be what he should deserve is not how the world works.
“I’m fine,” she responded with the lightly of love.
“You don’t sound it,” he whispered.
“I’ve never been better.”
There was silence. She plaited her long hair repeatedly while he drummed his long fingers against his legs, looking at everyone on the train but not really seeing them. His palms sweaty and he tried to dry them off briskly on his pant, but nothing was enough to keep the sweat away.
“This train is pretty hot,” he said, another attempt at casual conversation.
“It’s simply because you’re wearing part of a suit. It’s actually quite chilly.” She kept her gaze out the windows, merely avoiding his eyes for all her worth.
“I could say the same for you, only that it’s chilly because you’re in a skirt.”
She whipped around and glared at him, her bright eyes glassy and hateful. There were bitter lines etched by her mouth, set in what seemed to be a permanent frown. He wondered how long it had been that way; the witness of ones beauty seems to leave in the most desperate and complicated of scenarios.
“You’re not fine,” he whispered.
“No,” she hissed. “I’m not. I was fine until about half a year ago.”
They looked at each other through a wall of tension so strong that it was a wonder they could see each other at all. For a moment he felt himself wanting to reach out to see if that wall was reality. She kept her eyes fixed on him, her frown in place. It looked strange set against her blond hair plaited loosely on her collar bone. Her lovely faced had taken on an almost foreign-lie quality and to a degree he blamed her for destroying her beauty. But he also blamed himself because he knew he was the reason for the destruction; something so hard to realise and except; a person’s hurt in one hand.
“What can I do to-”
“Nothing. There is nothing you can do. There is something someone can do for me in the future though.” Her fists gripped her floral skirt, wrinkling the material so that the flowers looked crushed against her legs; an anger in every crease and fold.He felt himself feel the feeling of desperation, a need to explain, a need to be lost, when he saw her white knuckles.
“And what is that?” He held his breath. He could feel it coming just like he could feel the cold rock forming in his gut. His throat was already on fire as he held back tears. This was not how he’d planned this train ride.
“They can leave you like you left me. They can yank you around on that short chain even after you’ve officially left until your neck is just as raw as mine was. They can mess with your head until you don’t even know what you want anymore. They can take your feelings and create the most elaborately woven tapestry you’ve ever seen and light it on fire and let it burn slowly and painfully at some times and speed up the process at others. They can leave you like you left me, confused, hung up, and caged in by your own deep unrequited feelings.”
Her chest heaved as she leaned back against the cold window, tears streaming down her soft face. The eyes weren’t so much hateful any more than exhausted. The frown had softened but he could still trace those deep lines with his glassy eyes. He reached out his hand towards her face but she flinched and pushed it away; it seemed every hate had led to that action.
“I don’t want you anymore like you never wanted me. So don’t touch me.” The hateful eyes were slowly surfacing back.
“No, that’s not how it ever was. Please, please don’t think that, Jayd, please.” He tried to touch her face again. She knocked it away again.
“I hate you for everything you are,” she cried.
“I know you do,” he whispered; the loudest he could say, a quality of self hate and the lump of hatred for himself preventing him from putting any other emotion into the answer.
There was silence once more. Neither moved but both cried quietly in their own way. Her makeup began to run down her face.
“Jayd, you’re a mess, with me,” he muttered with a small smile, reaching out once more. This time she remained still and he was able to rub the makeup off with his thumb. “It smeared a little bit.”
“It’s fine, just forget about it,” she said, rubbing at her cheeks with the back of her small hand. “I’ll just wash my face when we get there.”
Something caught his eye and his heart sank.
“What’s that?” His tone was urgent.
“What’s what?”
“Don’t ‘What’s what’ me. What is that on your finger?” He stared at her left hand.
“You know what that is,” she said coldly.
They were quiet once more, she looking down at her lap and he looking at the back of the person’s head before him. There was something growing inside of him that he just couldn’t seem to understand. It wasn’t anything he’d planned at all. In fact, everything he’d thought he knew, he had thought out so well, was proving untrue and failing before his eyes. It all rested on that tiny stone on her left hand. The pearl he had in his coat pocket at that very moment, realizing that it would never have a finger of its own.
He was too late.
“Do you love him?”
She gently wiped away a tear and smiled.
“Yes, I do.”
“What about me? Do you love me?”
She was quiet again as she smoothed out her skirt.
“Please don’t do this.”
“What makes him so different from me?”
“He loves me differently.”
He opened his mouth, thought better of it and closed it again. He ran his fingers through his hair and sighed and looked at her again, ready to speak and decided not to.
“I’m sorry.” She turned to look out the window, her face hesitated as held back a sob.
“What makes him so different, Jayd, huh? Why him? Why didn’t you wait for me?” He leaned in closer to her. “Jayd, why didn’t you wait for me?”
She turned to him and her gaze was like ice.
“I waited for you the entire time we were together. Not once did you even hint that it was worthwhile. Do you want to know how he loves me so differently?”
“Yes, Jayd, I do.”
“Love is patient, love is kind, it does not boast-“
“Don’t give me that, dammit!” He leaned back against his seat and closed his eyes.
“He loves me as I love him. You never did.”
They could feel the train begin to slow down.
“What’s he look like, Jayd? Is he tall and geeky and youthful? Or is he dark and dashing?” There was an undertone of extreme resentment beginning to surface in his voice.
She pulled out her wallet and then a rather crisp photo, which she handed to him. He held it carefully, his heart sinking even further. He looked a great deal like himself, healthy, handsome, and smiling like a child, his arm around her waist proudly. She wore the biggest, brightest smile, the kind he’d seen a few times while they’d been together. He’d loved that smile. It had been like a challenge to get her to smile like that for him and when he did, he always felt as if he had accomplished something greater than anything else that day. Now he was looking at how she was smiling with this man he could only know as her fiancé for a simple photograph. What had he done?
“He looks great, Jayd, absolutely stunning. I hope you two have a great life together.” He stood up.
“Where are you going?” she said timidly.
“Home, I’m heading home after this train stops.”
“Don’t you have somewhere you need to be though?” She looked at him expectantly.
“No, I don’t. I came on this train ride for you. Now I have no reason to even be in this seat. Have a nice life, Jayd.”
She turned towards the window once more as he walked down the aisle through cabin after cabin before he finally stopped at the vast doors, that would end their paths forever. He stared outside, through his eyes, with every emotion mixed in his pupils as he saw the lights slowing down to a slow patch of white melancholic strobes. Life was slowing down, coming to a half, a dead end. Alas the train came to a halt, with the doors sliding open to allow for those to enter the journey of life, and those to leave. He strided outside, trying to breathe in the scent of fresh air, the air of life. He smelt nothing but tears, love, hatred, jealousy and what he would feel for the months to come. He stepped outside into the brisk cold air, and started walking, walking somewhere, nowhere, but somewhere, anywhere, where this pain of emotion might just subside for the slightest moment. He walked, and the train tooted. He walked, and the train started puffing. He walked and the train started chugging. He slid his hand into his right picket and pulled a little black box, shining beneath the full moon, throwing it under the tracks; as the train passed, a small echo of the love being crushed, the love he had once knew, and would never know again. The train journeyed on into the darkness, him being able to catch a slight glimpse of the shadow of his one and only reason to live; the saddest memory he would carry, a burden and regret he would carry, an emotion he would never be able to move away from; the love had left forever.

They never saw each other again; the thought of that still haunts me to this day.
They were pretty much, perfect, for each other.
She was everything he wasn’t and he was everything she wasn’t.
I remember in every class, the jokes we would make. They were highschool sweethearts indeed, laced in each others arms.
We were enthralled when they started dating.
We were ecstatic when they proposed.
We were nostalgic when they married.
And here we are, everything not mattering.It makes me wonder, where I would go from here, and whether I would feel the pain that he ever felt, god forbid I deserve it.