It was a cold, rainy day. I headed to the station to pick up Guest.

Standing at the station roundabout under my umbrella, I keep glancing toward the ticket gates. The rain shows no sign of stopping. Droplets dripping from the edge of the umbrella create small ripples in the puddles at my feet.

Every time a train arrives, people pour out of the gates. Each time, I lift my head. A similar umbrella. Similar clothes. A silhouette that looks just like them from a distance.

But it's not them.

Not them either.