It Wasn't Possible

The metro station was bathed in artificial light; it was not warm.
The glow of the fluorescent lamps cast sharp shadows on the floor, as if someone had carved them with a knife.
A light dust floated in the air, stirred up by the movement of the metros. The restless flow of people and the murmur of voices echoed through the metallic tunnels. Lonely gazes occasionally collided.

He sat on the bench, hands clasped, fingers restless. His beard itched against his chin, and he brushed it nervously with his fingers. A girl walked past, glancing at him with disdain. "Hmph," he scoffed.
He never particularly liked metro stations. They were too full of motion, of things that never stopped. Nothing but fleeting moments, he thought. People came and went.

He had been here before. Not on this exact station, but in this moment—tired. His gaze wandered across the station, lingered on the advertisement boards. Promises of something new, something better.
But he refused to believe in that.

Then he saw him.

A man stood further away, his eyes drifting as if searching for something he hadn't seen in years.
Time had weighed on him, bending his posture, yet his eyes still held the same glimmer. A longing for memories he had once tried to hold onto.

Then he felt a light pull in his chest. Not pain, not joy.
The same feeling he had felt back then. But he had left it all behind.
How had it come to this?

He felt something—perhaps now was the chance.
"Would it be worth it?" he whispered to himself.

Footsteps began approaching, slowly, hesitantly.
Was he really coming toward him? He remained still, yet inside, he felt something tightening. An invisible thread tied to something that had once been.

The man stopped in front of him and spoke.
His voice was low, cautious. Familiar, yet worn by years.

"Excuse me," the man said quietly. "Do we know each other?"