It was raining, I was late, and I’d been crying in the quiet way that fools nobody. I sat on the F train staring at my reflection, wondering when I’d become someone who cried on public transit and didn’t even care.
An elderly woman across from me didn’t offer a tissue or ask if I was alright. She just caught my eye and smiled — the slow, knowing kind that belongs to someone who has been exactly where you are and made it through. Three seconds, maybe. Then she looked back down at her crossword. She got off at the next stop.
Some people aren’t meant to stay. They just appear at the exact moment you need proof that surviving is possible — and then let you carry that forward yourself.