The 11:47 PM train to the city center had always been quiet, but on that particular night, it felt different. The lights flickered as the carriages rolled through the tunnel, casting long shadows against the glass windows. A few passengers sat in silence, their faces illuminated by the soft glow of smartphones or the dim overhead lights. No one spoke. No one even looked up. Mara had taken the same train every night for three weeks, always sitting in the third row of the second carriage. She didn’t know why she chose that spot—it just felt right. The other passengers were strangers, and she preferred it that way. But tonight, something was off. The air inside the train felt heavier, like it had been trapped for too long. The hum of the wheels on the tracks was slower, almost as if the train itself was dragging its feet. She glanced at the window and saw her reflection—pale, tired, with dark circles under her eyes. It wasn’t until she blinked that she noticed the reflection wasn’t quite right. Her mouth moved slightly, but her lips didn’t. It was as if someone else was watching her through the glass. Mara turned away quickly, heart pounding. She pulled out her phone, checking the time. 11:49 PM. The train should have reached the station by now, but there was no sign of any platform. The tunnel stretched endlessly, and the lights outside the windows were gone. Only darkness remained. A voice whispered from somewhere behind her. “You shouldn’t be here.” Mara froze. She turned slowly, expecting to see a stranger, but the seat behind her was empty. The only person in the entire carriage was her. The whisper came again, softer this time, almost like a sigh. She looked around, scanning the other passengers. They were all still, staring blankly ahead, as if they hadn’t heard anything. Then she saw the man. He stood near the end of the carriage, leaning against the door. His face was obscured by the shadows, but his presence made the air feel colder. He wore a black coat, and his hands were tucked into his pockets. When he finally stepped forward, his movements were slow, deliberate. “You’re not supposed to be on this train,” he said, his voice low and smooth, like wind through an empty corridor. Mara swallowed hard. “Where is this going?” He tilted his head. “You don’t remember, do you? You’ve been here before.” She shook her head. “I don’t—” “Of course you don’t.” He took another step closer, and the temperature in the carriage dropped. “You’re stuck in a loop. Every night, you take the same train, sit in the same seat, and never reach your destination.” Mara’s breath caught. “That’s not true.” He smiled faintly. “It is. You just can’t see it yet.” Before she could ask what he meant, the lights flickered violently. The train screeched to a stop, and the power went out. In the sudden darkness, the man vanished. The passengers stirred, some blinking in confusion, others muttering to themselves as if waking from a dream. When the lights came back on, the train was still in the tunnel. The clock on the wall read 11:47 PM again. Mara stood up, her legs shaking. She looked around, but no one seemed to notice the change. The man was gone, and the other passengers were already returning to their phones and books as if nothing had happened. She stepped off the train at the next station, which she didn’t recognize. The platform was empty, the walls covered in faded graffiti. A single flickering bulb above the exit cast long shadows across the floor. She walked down the stairs, past a rusted metal gate, and into the street. The city was quiet, but not empty. There were people walking, cars passing, but none of them looked at her. They moved like ghosts, unaware of her presence. She tried to speak, but her voice didn’t carry. It was as if she had become invisible. As she wandered through the unfamiliar streets, she found herself back at the subway entrance. The same train was waiting, its doors open. A few passengers stood inside, looking at her with empty eyes. Mara hesitated. Then, slowly, she stepped onto the train. The doors closed behind her. The lights flickered once more, and the journey began again.