The 11:47 PM train was always late. No one knew why, but it had been a fixture of the city’s underground for as long as anyone could remember. It never stopped at the usual stations, and its schedule seemed to shift like a dream slipping through your fingers. Most people ignored it, pretending it didn’t exist, but those who caught a glimpse of it often found themselves changed in some subtle, unexplainable way. Lena first saw it on a rainy Tuesday. She had missed her usual train and was waiting on the platform, shivering under a flickering fluorescent light. The tunnel behind her was dark and deep, and the air smelled of rust and damp earth. Then, from the far end of the platform, a soft hum began. It wasn’t the sound of a train—more like a whisper, or the memory of one. The lights dimmed, and the silence thickened. The train arrived with no warning. Its doors slid open with a groan that echoed strangely, as if the sound had traveled through time before reaching her ears. The car was empty, save for a single seat near the back. Lena hesitated, then stepped inside. The door closed behind her with a soft click, and the train moved forward without a sound. She didn’t know how long she had been on it. The tunnel walls were covered in strange symbols, glowing faintly in the dim light. They weren’t written in any language she recognized, but they felt familiar, like something she had once seen in a dream. A clock on the wall showed the time as 11:47, but the numbers kept shifting, as though time itself was uncertain. At the next stop, a man stepped onto the train. He was dressed in a suit that looked too clean, too new, and his face was pale and expressionless. He sat across from her and didn’t speak. Lena tried to look away, but his eyes followed her, unblinking. When the train reached the next station, he disappeared, leaving only a small, folded piece of paper on the seat beside him. She opened it carefully. It was a map, drawn in ink that shimmered like liquid silver. There were no names on the streets, just a series of loops and lines that seemed to connect to nowhere. At the bottom, in tiny letters, it read: “You are not lost. You are found.” The train eventually came to a stop in a station she had never seen before. The platform was empty, and the lights were off. A single door stood at the far end, slightly ajar. Lena walked toward it, her footsteps echoing in the stillness. As she reached for the handle, the door creaked open on its own, revealing a narrow hallway lined with mirrors. Each mirror reflected a different version of herself—some older, some younger, some with eyes that were not her own. She turned around, expecting to see the train, but it was gone. The hallway stretched endlessly in both directions, and the mirrors whispered in voices she couldn’t quite understand. One of them said, “You are not lost. You are found.” Another added, “You are not here. You are everywhere.” Lena ran, but the hallway never ended. The mirrors followed her, their reflections shifting and changing, showing her possibilities she had never considered. Some versions of her were smiling, others crying, some were nothing more than shadows. She reached a door at the end of the corridor, and when she opened it, she was back on the platform, the 11:47 train gone, the station empty again. No one else had seen it. No one remembered the train. But Lena kept the map, tucking it into her journal. She would never ride the 11:47 again, but sometimes, when she looked in the mirror, she wondered if she had ever truly been herself. Or if, somewhere in the tunnels beneath the city, there was another version of her, walking the same path, seeing the same things, and asking the same question: Am I lost? Or am I found?