SPEED SIGHT
A one-shot short story
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The train screeched into the platform at 7:46 AM. Like always.
Shyam stood where he always did—second pillar from the left, third tile crack from the wall.
He liked routine. It made things predictable. It made things safe.
His headphones buzzed some forgotten indie song as he sipped watery station chai, mind blank, eyes lost in the swarm of half-asleep commuters.
And then he saw her.
One second. Maybe two.
Long hair swaying like it belonged in a music video. A plain white kurta. A bag slung over one shoulder like it didn't give a damn.
She wasn't stunning. She wasn't glowing. She wasn't anything "movie-like."
She was just... there.
But to him, she was a glitch in the simulation.
The train's horn blared, and she was gone—swallowed by the crowd, the steel doors closing like fate itself.
He didn't know her name.
Didn't know her voice.
Didn't even catch her eye.
But she lived in his thoughts that night. And the next. And the next.
—
For weeks, he stood at the same spot. Same time. Same background song playing in his head. Hoping.
Sometimes he saw her again—always fleeting. Like a memory that wasn't sure it wanted to stay.
Then came the shocker.
Orientation day. College auditorium.
Roll numbers. Seating chaos. Nervous laughter.
He turned, bored—and there she was.
A few rows up. Laughing with a friend.
She looked happy. He froze.
Turns out, fate didn't just tease. It liked to mock.
She was from his college.
—
He tried. Oh, how he tried.
Dropped his pen near her table. Sat beside her during a seminar.
Even joined a student club just because she was on the list.
But every time—
She looked through him. Like glass.
Polite, brief eye contact. A smile once.
Nothing more.
She wasn't mean.
She just… didn't notice.
—
Shyam eventually stopped trying.
He settled for glimpses in the hallway.
A laugh heard from the cafeteria.
Her handwriting once spotted on a noticeboard.
Years passed. The girl with the swaying hair became just a habit. A fixture. Like background noise.
A what-if he never dared to disturb.
He graduated. She did too.
They never spoke. Not once.
—
Years later, he took a different train. Different job. Different city.
But every now and then, he'd glance at strangers on the platform and wonder—
"Was it even real?"
That moment. That glance. That heart skipping a beat like a scratched record.
He never forgot her.
But he also never blamed her.
Some love stories aren't tragedies.
They're just… footnotes.
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Writer [ noobsuper2648 ]
Story [ dhoben ]
Editors [ chatGPT & RAITHA ]
review [ n/n ]
665 special -/
Speed sight / the hit of romances series