Secret by Yas Bin Shaibah

Strangers on a train.

He with his newspaper, wrinkled face with salt and pepper hair to match, and glasses sitting at the edge of that beer nose. Reading tragedies of yesterday. Perhaps another murder, or that car pile up blocking the A1. I think I see a ‘lost dog’ ad, poor fella, I wonder if it’s the dog digging through the trash last night. 

Why’s he getting up? Oh, another stop. (Sigh)

I wonder where he’s going. To work? Or is he coming home from a night shift? Maybe he’s visiting his sickly wife in hospital. Might be the secret behind his unusually tired, worried eyes.

Young people! Finally, I was beginning to feel like the fetus on the train.

Dreadlock Blondie kinda reminds me of myself, hasn’t stopped organizing her stuff since the train left the station. Am I this annoying when my OCD kicks in, too? Hmm.

Her girlfriend is the Indian, female version of Justin Bieber. Or is it just the hair?

Ah, new couples. Shyly holding hands, smiling and blushing so hard when their eyes meet.

I wonder how they met, they seem like a highly unlikely couple.

Yet another stop.

No one went down, and only one cute little young woman came up.

Look at her with her little suit all dressed up, so polite asking me if she can have the window seat with a great, big smile.

I read the words “product relaunch” on her folder. Ah, one of us marketers!

It was a handout of a PowerPoint she’d be presenting when she got off the train. I figured that out when she hurried trough her Starbucks breakfast and started flipping through, silently practicing, but could see her lips move at the corner of my eye.

I looked at the paper and learned what product it was for. Woah, I though that was doing really well! My sister sure makes it seem so. Hmm, it is a different market in the UK though.


I wonder if she’s new, she looks really nervous, and around my age. I wish her well. Unless she’s the bitch around the office! In that case I wish her a broken coffee machine. And for the curse to stay with every coffee machine she gets. But, na, I don’t think the office bitch would be polite to a stranger on a train.

I wonder if someone here is thinking of me now as I am thinking of them.

Another world, a planet orbiting on its very own cycle.

Wondering where I come from.

Wondering where I’m heading.

Wondering why.

Wondering what kind of person I am.

Wondering if my outside fairly represents… ‘me’.

Wondering, “What are her secrets?”

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