"Some people walk into your story at the exact moment you're about to lose the plot."
It was early — too early for the world to be this loud in my head.
I was in the public restroom of a downtown station, brushing my teeth with what was left of my travel-sized tube, trying to avoid my reflection.
That's when I heard her voice.
From the last stall.
"I swear to God if one more person tells me to just 'keep trying'—"
She wasn't crying.
She was ranting.
Out loud.
To herself, maybe to the universe.
She walked out seconds later — hood up, earbuds tangled in her fingers, face flushed with frustration.
We locked eyes.
"You good?" I asked, more out of instinct than anything else.
"No," she said without hesitation. "But thanks for asking."
She turned on the sink beside me and splashed water on her face like she was trying to rinse off everything she was carrying.
"Rough morning?" I offered.
She snorted.
"Rough year."
Then she looked at me. "You from around here?"
"Kind of," I shrugged. "You?"
"Nah," she said, drying her face with a paper towel.
"I just take the 4 train to a job I don't have yet and
pretend I'm fine."
We both laughed quietly.
"I'm Riley," she said after a pause, holding out her hand.
"Noah," I replied, shaking it.
"Well, Noah," she said, studying me. "You don't look like you've slept much either."
"I haven't."
"So what's your story?"
I hesitated.
She noticed.
"Let me guess — heartbreak? Drama? Some girl break your heart?"
I smiled.
"Nah, nothing like that."
I took a breath.
"I left home." She blinked.
"What?"
"I turned 18 last week. I just… needed something different. I didn't hate my life, but I didn't love it either. It felt like I was drowning in routine. So I left."
She stared at me like I'd said I walked here from Mars.
"You left?" she said slowly. "Like… on purpose?"
"Yeah."
"Are you serious? You had a house, parents, food — and you just walked away?"
I nodded, eyes on the sink.
"Wow," she whispered. "You're lucky, you know that?
You had something. I'd do anything for one more day with
my parents."
That's when I looked up.
"They passed?" I asked gently.
She nodded once.
"Car accident. I was thirteen. Now I live with my grandma. She's all I've got. And she's not doing great either."
There was silence after that — the kind that sits between two people who understand pain but come from different sides of it.
"I guess we're both just trying to figure things out," I said.
She gave a half-smile.
"Yeah, well... don't figure it out in a bathroom next time."
We both laughed.
"Come on," she said, walking toward the door. "I know a diner that doesn't kick you out if you just order coffee. Let's breathe somewhere less disgusting."
And just like that, I followed her — not because I had anywhere else to be.
But because for the first time in days, someone saw me… and stayed.