The days became increasingly repetitive and informal. Richard sat smiling in his office on the 12th floor of one of Montreal's most striking skyscrapers, his gaze fixed on the monitor, the ever-changing stocks, his phone ringing with constant client requests. The day was drawing to a close, and darkness seemed to slowly envelop every room until the darkness of night.
As he packed up his briefcase, Richard's eyes drifted to the window, where the twinkling lights of Montreal's skyline stretched out before him. He felt a familiar pang of longing, not for the bustling city below, but for something wilder, more untamed. Memories of childhood camping trips in the Laurentians flickered through his mind, a stark contrast to the sterile confines of his high-rise office.With a sigh, Richard made his way to the metro station, joining the throng of commuters heading home. As he settled into his seat on the train, he couldn't help but notice the polite smiles and nods exchanged between passengers, a stark reminder of the Canadian etiquette that masked his own internal emptiness. His gaze fell on a fellow passenger engrossed in a book, its cover featuring a lone hiker atop a snow-capped peak in Banff National Park, and for a moment, Richard felt a flicker of something long forgotten stirring within him.Richard boarded the metro, blending into the crowd of homebound commuters. Seated on the train, he observed the artificial pleasantries exchanged by passengers, their smiles concealing an inner void that mirrored his own. His attention was drawn to an abandoned book on the adjacent seat. The cover depicted a solitary hiker standing atop a snow-covered mountain in British Columbia. This image momentarily awakened a dormant sensation within him, evoking memories of his old friend and their shared adventures.His enthusiasm was contagious. He was returning from a long trip in Mexico, where his company has a big plant. Richard boarded the metro, blending into the crowd of homebound commuters. Seated on the train, he observed the artificial pleasantries exchanged by passengers, their smiles concealing an inner void that mirrored his own. His attention was drawn to an abandoned book on the adjacent seat. The cover depicted a solitary hiker standing atop a snow-covered mountain in British Columbia. This image momentarily awakened a dormant sensation within him, evoking memories of his old friend and their shared adventures.The discussion concluded abruptly after 7-8 minutes as Liam reached his destination. Richard start watching outside, joining the crowd of commuters heading home. As he sat on the train, he noticed the superficial interactions between passengers, their smiles masking an inner emptiness that resonated with his own feelings. His gaze was drawn to a discarded book on the nearby seat. The cover image showed a lone hiker standing on a snow-capped mountain in British Columbia. This visual stirred something within Richard, rekindling memories of an old friend and their shared experiences.Richard's eyes lingered on the book for a few moments longer. The hiker on the cover stood with arms outstretched to the sky, as though embracing the sheer scale of the wilderness. It was a pose he remembered well—Liam had once done the same at the summit of Mount Edith Cavell, laughing into the wind as if daring it to challenge his joy. That day had felt infinite, the kind of memory not measured by time but by weight—etched deeply, unmovable, unforgotten.
He glanced around the carriage, but no one else seemed to notice the book. Almost involuntarily, he reached for it, turning it over in his hands. The spine was cracked, and there was a folded map tucked between the pages. Richard unfolded it carefully: a hand-drawn trail, faint pencil markings, and an underlined note at the bottom that read:
"Find your own summit."
He smiled faintly. It was the kind of message Liam would have left. Always chasing meaning, even in the mundane.
The train lurched to a stop. A handful of passengers exited, and a few more entered. The rhythm of movement was as predictable as it was impersonal. Richard set the book on his lap and stared out the window. The city lights blurred into streaks of gold and blue as the train pushed through the underground, a reminder of the world above that he had slowly withdrawn from—bright, alive, untouchable.
His phone buzzed. Another calendar reminder. Quarterly strategy meeting – 9:00 a.m. sharp.
He swiped it away without a second glance.
In the reflection of the window, he saw not just his tired eyes and perfectly knotted tie, but a man suspended—between floors, between decisions, between two versions of himself. One tethered to routines and expectations; the other quietly stirring, restless beneath the surface.
The voice of the announcer echoed overhead—his stop was next.
For a moment, Richard considered leaving the book behind. Let someone else find it. Let someone else feel the spark. But as he stood and slung his briefcase over his shoulder, he tucked the book inside, careful not to crease the map.
He stepped off the train and into the cool Montreal evening, the city's hum greeting him like a familiar lullaby. But this time, it didn't soothe. Not completely.
Somewhere far from here, a trail waited.
And for the first time in years, Richard wondered what it might be like to follow it.