Exams are finally over ...
The train hums beneath my feet like a restless heart. The faint rhythm of the wheels blends with the soft murmur of passengers around me. I'm standing near the platform gate, my bag slung over my shoulder, holding my ticket with fingers that won't stay still. The evening sun paints everything in orange, and for a moment, it feels like time is melting into light.
My phone buzzes.
Rayan: Did you reach the station? Don't forget your charger this time.
I can't help smiling. I type back, Yes, and I have everything.
Almost immediately, another message pops up.
Rayan: Everything? Water bottle, earphones, snack?
I roll my eyes, still smiling. Yes, Rayan. Everything.
Rayan: Hmm… I doubt that. You always forget something.
No, I didn't forget this time, I reply. And stop teasing me. I'm already nervous about catching the train.
Rayan: Relax. You'll be fine. Send me your train number.
I tell him. A few seconds later—
Rayan: Okay, got it. I'll track it. Every stop. Don't even think about ignoring my messages.
I laugh softly, earning a curious glance from the woman standing beside me. You're going to track my train?
Rayan: Of course. Someone has to make sure you don't get lost halfway across the country.
I shake my head. You're impossible.
Rayan: And you love it.
The words linger longer than they should. I stare at the screen, my thumb hovering over the keyboard, not sure what to reply. The announcement for my train echoes through the station. I tuck the phone in my hand and start walking toward the platform.
The cool wind rushes past, carrying the smell of iron and rain. I climb into my compartment, find my seat by the window, and settle down. The moment I sit, another message comes.
Rayan: Your train's five minutes late already. Typical.
Seriously? You're tracking already? I type, laughing silently.
Rayan: Told you. I'm on duty now.
I lean my head against the window. The platform outside looks blurry through the glass. People are waving, rushing, shouting — and I'm just here, smiling at my phone like an idiot.
Rayan: Hey, don't forget to text when it starts moving.
Okay, I reply. And stop worrying. I'm not a kid.
Rayan: No, but you act like one sometimes.
Excuse me?
Rayan: Like now. Pouting at your phone.
I gasp quietly. How do you know I'm pouting?
Rayan: Because I know you.
Something tugs in my chest. The train whistle blows, long and distant. I type quickly — It's moving.
Rayan: Good. Sit back. Don't overthink. Just… watch the world pass by.
I put my phone aside for a minute and do what he says. The scenery outside shifts — the station fading, fields stretching endlessly. The wind brushes through the small crack in the window, tangling a few strands of my hair. For a moment, I just breathe.
But the phone buzzes again.
Rayan: Your train crossed the first stop. Still on time. I told you I'd keep an eye.
Do you have nothing better to do? I tease.
Rayan: Nope. Watching dots move on a screen for you seems like the most important thing today.
You're crazy.
Rayan: Maybe. But you're worth it.
I freeze. My heart skips like it doesn't know what to do. I stare at the message for a long second before replying, You say weird things sometimes, you know that?
Rayan: Weird? No. Honest, maybe.
I shake my head, trying to suppress the smile threatening to spread across my face. I type, You're not supposed to say things like that.
Rayan: Why not?
Because… because you just aren't.
Rayan: Fine. Then I'll say this — don't miss your stop. Focus.
I laugh again, quietly. The people around me must think I'm losing my mind.
Time drifts. Stations pass. He keeps messaging — random little things.
Rayan: Did you eat something?
No, not yet.
Rayan: Eat something. You'll get a headache.
Yes, dad.
Rayan: Don't "dad" me. Just do it.
Bossy much?
Rayan: Only when it comes to you.
I sigh, hiding the stupid smile that won't leave my face.
The sky outside darkens to deep blue. The train slows near another station. I check my phone. He's still online.
Rayan: You're near the third stop. Everything good?
Yes, everything's fine.
Rayan: Good. Text me when you reach. Even if it's late. I'll be awake.
Rayan, don't wait up. It's just a few hours.
Rayan: I'm not waiting. Just making sure you're safe.
You worry too much.
Rayan: And you worry too little.
The corners of my lips lift again. I type, You're sweet, you know that?
Rayan: Don't call me sweet. Makes me sound soft.
You are soft.
Rayan: Stop teasing me or I'll stop tracking your train.
You won't.
Rayan: Try me.
I laugh so suddenly that the woman beside me jumps a little. I whisper an apology and turn to the window again.
Outside, the stars have started to appear — faint, scattered like forgotten promises. The train whistles again, echoing through the night. My phone lights up.
Rayan: I told you this train would be late by ten minutes. See? I'm always right.
Show off.
Rayan: You like that.
Maybe.
Rayan: Maybe? That's all I get?
Don't push your luck.
He sends a sticker — a laughing emoji with a wink. I can't stop smiling. I rest my chin on my hand, the phone glowing softly in my palm. The rhythm of the train matches my heartbeat.
For a long time, we don't text. Maybe he's doing something, maybe he's letting me rest. The train rocks gently, the sound of wheels blurring into a lullaby. I almost close my eyes when the phone buzzes one last time.
Rayan: You must be near now. Don't forget to tell me when you reach. And hey... don't stress so much. Everything's fine.
I type, I'm not stressed.
A second later —
Rayan: You're so stressed.
I'm not.
Rayan: You are.
Stop arguing.
Rayan: Fine. But still — breathe. Sleep if you can. The world can wait.
I stare at the message, reading it twice, three times. There's something in those words that feels heavier than they look. Something unspoken, like he's trying to say more but won't.
I whisper softly to the wind slipping through the window, "You're so stupid, Rayan."
But I'm smiling.
I don't know why his words echo in my head longer than they should. Maybe it's because in this moving train, under the quiet stars, the thought of him feels like home.
And as the train rushes past another nameless station, I realize — I'm not thinking about the destination anymore. Just the messages. The voice behind them.
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