How many moments had he absorbed quietly, just to keep the peace? He thought of his job. His apartment. His life. And then he thought about this train. This boy. This woman. His fingers closed around the edge of his tray table, knuckles whitening. Enough.
Daniel turned around fully this time. Not just a glance over his shoulder, but a deliberate pivot—shoulder angled into the aisle, posture upright, controlled. The boy was staring blankly at his shoes. His legs swung with innocent rhythm, like he wasn’t even aware of what he was doing.
Daniel offered a smile. Not friendly. Not cold. Just… neutral. “Hey, champ,” he said softly, “I really need you to stop kicking my seat. Okay?” The boy looked up. Blinked. Didn’t answer. Daniel waited a beat. Then added, “You probably don’t realize it, but it’s shaking my seat every time. Makes it tough to relax.”
Still no reply. Just a faint twitch of the boy’s lips—something between confusion and amusement. Daniel held the boy’s gaze for another second, then nodded once and turned back around. The train swayed gently through a curve. Outside the window, the grey outline of a town slid past—a blur of rooftops, power lines, and leafless trees.