The rain blurred the world outside into a haze of grey, but David could hardly focus on that, the world inside him, the kind of sadness he carried didn't need weather to deepen it. The train was moving, taking him to his destination, but David still felt like he wasn't going anywhere, as if he lacked direction in life.

David was a 53-year-old high school English teacher. He has been teaching at the same high school in Rochester for nearly 30 years now, approaching the age of retirement. Once, he was a highly energetic person, the type of person who could go on and on about a book for hours without getting bored or tired. He was always so passionate about literature and reading. He used to come home eager to tell his wife everything, passages he loved, students who surprised him, and she listened with a focus that made him feel understood instead of judged.

But now? Now all he can think about is her death. Without her support, he felt lost. A man without direction, with no sense of purpose or meaning in life. The world had edges when she was around. Now everything felt blurred, like the rain outside.

The carriage rocked gently, the motion familiar enough that his body swayed with it automatically. David stared deeply at his reflection on the window, the glass dark enough to double as a mirror. Outside, raindrops streaked downward like tiny rivers, the red stop signal lights bleeding through them in warped, trembling lines.

Every day, he got up, went to work, came home, and repeated the cycle. Each day was monotonous, filled with the same tasks, and work passed by without anything interesting happening. Even his house had gone quiet without her; it was no longer a home, but just a house.

The train continued rattling as he pondered the monotony of his life, his fingers fidgeting. Suddenly, he sensed someone's gaze on him, which seemed almost predatory. A wave of discomfort washed over him as he turned his head slightly to meet the eyes of the man sitting opposite him, just far enough to be out of David's line of sight to his own reflection.

The man looked at David with an expression that seemed both curious and condescending, making David feel more insecure. Why was this man staring at him? Who was he? What did he want?

David wanted to ask why the man was staring at him, but after being silent for most of the train ride, he struggled to find his voice. His chest felt tight with anxiety. Finally, he mustered enough strength to ask, "Is something wrong?" But before he could even say the first word, the man spoke.

"The rain always waits for the day you forget the umbrella, doesn't it."

He didn't lift his voice at the end like it was a question, he said the entire sentence with the same tone. No, It wasn't a question, it was a statement, as if he already understood it to be true. The man's face reflected pure curiosity, as though he were simply playing with David.

He was surprised to hear the man speak first, David hadn't expected any interaction on his way home, let alone a conversation with a stranger. All he could manage was a quiet "Yeah..." punctuated by a strange, self-deprecating chuckle.

The man continued to stare at David, and the silence spread between them like something deliberate. Just as the tension grew too awkward, David looked away, back to the safety of his own reflection. Only his own image offered warmth in the cold atmosphere of the compartment, made even colder by the rain outside.

David began to ponder again as the train continued to buzz beneath his feet steadily, mechanically, but this time, it was about the man, the one who had broken the silence and seemed to look down on him. The man's expression, once curious, now appeared to David as one of pity.

As David was wrapped up in these thoughts, the train came to a screeching halt. The brakes screeching like a sharp metallic whine. Yet he didn't budge. He remained focused on his reflection, indifferent to the fact that this was his stop. He needed to leave the train or risk being carried away to an unknown destination. But his mind was still occupied with the man's words.

Then, the announcement came: "Good evening, ladies and gentlemen..." David jolted back to reality and glanced around, slightly panicked. Realizing it was his stop, he jumped from his seat and rushed toward the exit before the doors closed. As he stepped off the train, he looked back at the man one last time. This time, the man's eyes were focused elsewhere, not on David. Before David could see what had captured the man's attention, the doors closed behind him.

Unable to figure out what the man was looking at, David wondered as he walked toward the exit.

He reached the exit just as the rain began to lessen, though it felt as if it could pour again at any moment. He reached out his hand and called for a taxi waiting outside. After a moment, the car drove around and stopped in front of him. He climbed inside, grateful for the warmth compared to the cold outside, and gave the driver his address. The taxi smelled faintly of cinnamon; his wife used to put cinnamon in everything, even coffee. As they started driving away toward his house, even though the encounter was behind him, David couldn't shake the feeling that something about it remained unresolved.

David usually shared his thoughts and experiences with his wife, but lately, he has taken to keeping a diary. A mental sanctuary where he can jot down everything he wished to tell her one day. He knows she would genuinely listen, rather than just hear his words passively.

He always carries his diary with him, tucked away in the inside pocket of his coat. But wait... he isn't wearing the coat; it's not in his hands. Where is it?!

Panic washes over him as he realizes his coat is missing. But more importantly, his diary is gone!

Was the man on the train staring at the coat back then? At the diary? No, why didn't he say anything then? Why didn't he just speak up? Or hand it back to him? He just kept staring as if he wanted the diary to vanish and let David feel the fear and embarrassment of someone prying into his private thoughts.

His wife would've noticed the coat missing before he ever stepped off the train, but she wasn't here this time.

David was filled with anger, frustration, anxiety, and panic as he watched the rain start to pour down again. The streetlights smudge into streaks on the wet glass. His fingers trembled against the leather seat. What will he do now? He has lost his diary, the most important thing in his life, it's the closest thing to talking to his wife, his only refuge, the place where he could confess anything and everything. It was where he documented every interesting moment he wanted to share with his wife. What if he forgets those moments and never gets the chance to see her smile again? What if everything else is too mundane in comparison? What will happen then?

The muffled rain hitting the metal roof only made it harder to focus on his thoughts. He swallowed, but his throat felt dry. All he could do was imagine the voice, the soft, patient, gentle yet firm voice of his wife, "David, breathe." But he couldn't. She always believed he'd get through anything. And at that moment, he wished he still believed in that.

"It's all over," David thought, finally resigning himself to the reality that he may never see that diary again...

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