She stood at the station, a hall overflowing with people. Loud voices and laughter cut through the stuffy air. Men and women stood, sat, or rushed about. Some looked old, moving slowly through the mass of people with their rollators and walking sticks, or sitting down at one of the numerous benches scattered throughout the place. Others appeared to be young adults, carrying briefcases, handbags, or jackets. Even children scurried through the crowd, chased by their friends or giving chase themselves, playing, laughing, and running past the short-haired young woman as she made her way to one of the counters, trying to avoid all the commotion.

A queue of considerable length had formed in front of the counter. It would take some time before it would be her turn, but she was in no hurry. With a slow tilt of her head, her gaze wandered along the line of people waiting at the ticket counter. With a few exceptions, all of them, no matter their apparent age, had lived full lives.

The old, the grown-ups, and the children had all lived through their childhood, youth, and adulthood. They had seen their first hairs turn grey with age. Most of the lives they lived were fulfilled, filled with happiness and laughter—at least to some degree—and they could look back on it with few regrets.

It was no different for the young woman observing the masses around her with alert green eyes.

Of course, there had been regretful moments and bad decisions scattered throughout her life, but all in all, she felt content with herself.

Her eyes caught sight of a boy sitting on a bench, hunched over the palm of his hand, staring at it.

He had been sitting there for some time now. Many trains had passed, yet he had not boarded any of them. He was waiting for someone.

The man in front of her stepped up to the window. He was slightly overweight, and his walk reminded her of a penguin’s waddle as he approached the counter and the lady behind it.

She smiled, and they exchanged a few words before she handed him his tickets. He looked down at the four brown pieces of paper before leaving, visibly disappointed.

The woman moved forward until she was standig infront of the glass that separated her from the ticket distributor. She opened her mouth to announce her name, but the lady had already disappeared behind the counter. After a few moments, she reappeared with a stack of small brown papers.

“102 tickets,” she said, maintaining a professional smile. “That means 102 stops for you. The train will pull up to each stop only once. You can leave the train at any of them, look around, and decide to stay or return to the train and try your luck with the next one. The one hundred and second stop is your last. If you have not decided to stay at any of the other stations, you will have to get off there for good. Once you’ve chosen a stop and the train departs, there is no going back.”

The short-haired woman had never been to this station, yet she already knew all the rules.

“You can gift your tickets to someone. They are not bound to your person. This also means that they can be stolen, so keep an eye on them. In case of theft, we cannot offer you any compensation. We wish you an enlightening journey.”

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Once again, the lady smiled before handing her the neatly packed tickets. The woman thanked her, politely bid farewell, and headed back into the crowd of people waiting for the train’s arrival.

She weighed the stack of papers in her hand. Two more than the number of stations, she thought to herself, before heading toward the boy on the bench. Once standing right in front of him, she paused, observing him for a moment.

He was staring into the palm of his hand, where a golden wedding ring lay. Tears streamed down his face as he murmured to himself. The woman had to bent down to understand the words more clearly.

“But you promised me. You said we were meant for each other. You swore to always be with me and to never love anyone else. I waited for you, you know? My whole life, I’ve waited for you. You promised me. You promised you’d wait here for me. I wanted to be only yours…”

A young man emerged from the crowd and approached the boy on the bench. He squatted down to his level, right next to the woman.

With a concerned voice, he asked, “Is everything all right? Can I help you somehow?”

The boy simply shook his head, not even looking up.

“The train will be here any minute,” the man continued. “Do you have your tickets? I can show you where to get them.”

At first, it seemed the boy would not answer. He kept his gaze fixed on the golden ring in his hand. But then, he finally spoke:

“I’m waiting for someone. I won’t board this train.”

The man furrowed his brows, his worry growing stronger.

“Are you sure? Do you know that this person will come?”

“Yes,” answered the boy, a look of certainty on his face. “He will come. He promised me.”

After one last regretful glance, the young man stood up and left. There was nothing he could do for the boy as long as he believed to be waiting for someone. The man couldn’t think of anything that would convince him that the person he had spent his whole life waiting for would not come.

As soon as the man left, the boy began quietly murmuring again. But this time, his tone was more determined, as though he were trying to persuade himself.

“You will come. You promised me. You said we’d leave here together. It’s only a little while until the train arrives, and when it does, you’ll get off here, and we can finally leave this horrid place behind. You didn’t cheat on me. You didn’t forget me. You haven’t found anyone else. I’m still the only one for you, and I’ll wait for you forever, if I must.”

The woman stood up, leaving him behind. There was nothing she could do or say that would change the boy’s mind. He was lost in his own world and would not let anyone burst the bubble of make-believe surrounding him.

She made her way to the platform, where most of the passengers had gathered, when she suddenly noticed a metallic glint. The golden sparkle, barely noticeable, seemed to be coming from one of the waste bins placed around the station.

As she moved closer to inspect the object, she recognized the familiar form of a ring. It was the same as the wedding band the boy had held so tightly in his hand. The only difference was that this one was nearly completely covered with trash and was broken in two.

The piece of jewelry sat there, crushed, soiled, and ignored, as if someone had intentionally discarded it. As if it were no longer worth enough to be worn. Just like a promise, broken and forgotten.

Nobody else seemed to have noticed it, not even the boy, who still tightly held the second ring of the pair. Would he change his mind and board the train if he saw it like this? Would he give up his false hopes? Maybe.

But opening his eyes to the truth was none of the short-haired woman’s concerns. She would not meddle in matters that were not her own. Maybe someone else would tell him. Maybe someone else would find the ring and convince him to give up hope. Maybe somebody else, not her.

That was what she told herself, but deep down, she knew the truth. No one else would notice the ring. No one else would be able to convince him. No one would be able to help him. He would forever sit here on a lonely bench, surrounded by a crowd of people, waiting for his long-lost love.

Hope is a good thing, but only in small amounts. It can quickly turn into poison if the dose is too much for a person to bear. Childish naivety is no longer a blessing to adults but just another curse, leading to a slow and painful death.