||Mira||The train was late.I know how that sounds, like the start of a bad night, like something to complain about. But standing on that platform at eleven p.m. with a coffee gone cold in my hand and nobody in the world who knew exactly where I was, the lateness felt like a gift. Every extra minute was another minute of being nobody. No last name. No pack. No brother steering me through rooms like I couldn’t cross one alone.Around here, I was just Mira. Just another girl in the city. Dunmore Central had its own rhythm after dark. The last of the commuters were dragging themselves toward the exits, heads down, moving with the particular defeated shuffle of people who had given everything to the day and gotten very little back. Somewhere below the platform, a busker was pulling something slow and aching out of a violin, the sound rising up through the gaps in the floor in fragments. The fluorescent lights above Gate 7 kept flickering — on, hold, off, hold, on — in a pattern that
ปรับปรุงล่าสุด : 2026-05-26 อ่านเพิ่มเติม