The station was empty except for her and the pigeons.

Sarah checked her phone again. 11:47 PM. The last train had left thirteen minutes ago. She’d known this, of course, had watched it pull away while she stood frozen on the platform stairs, her hand gripping the railing, her feet refusing to move.

Marcus would be on that train now, finding his seat, probably checking his own phone to see if she’d sent a message. Maybe he’d look out the window at the city lights sliding past, wondering if she’d changed her mind.

But she hadn’t changed her mind. She’d just… stopped. Somewhere between the taxi and the platform, between deciding to go and actually going, something in her had quietly shifted. Like a door closing so softly you barely heard the click.

She sat down on a metal bench, her suitcase beside her like a loyal dog.

The thing about last trains is that there’s always another one tomorrow. The thing about last chances is that sometimes they’re not really last at all. Sometimes they’re just… moments. And moments pass.

Sarah pulled out her phone and typed: I’m sorry. I couldn’t.

Then she deleted it and wrote: I hope you have a good trip.

Then she deleted that too and turned off her phone.

The pigeons cooed softly, unbothered by human complications. She envied them their simplicity.

At midnight, she wheeled her suitcase back out into the city, where the late-night diners were still serving coffee and the streets were still humming with life. Tomorrow she’d figure out what this meant. Tonight, she’d just walk.