“Oh,” she said with a dismissive shrug. “He’s just a kid. He gets fidgety on long rides.” Daniel nodded once, controlling his breath. “I understand. But this is the quiet car. And the kicking hasn’t stopped.” She gave a tight, patronizing smile. “He’ll calm down eventually. He always does.”
Something slipped loose in Daniel’s chest—like a frayed cord finally snapping. “I’d prefer he calmed down now,” he said, his voice firmer, quieter, but with a bite he couldn’t soften. The mother raised her eyebrows theatrically, then chuckled—actually chuckled—and shook her head.
“Wow. Okay. You know what? Maybe you just need to relax a little. It’s a train, not a spa.” She pulled her earphone back in and turned away, already done with the conversation. Daniel sat frozen, heat rising behind his ears.
The embarrassment came fast and merciless—not because he’d overreacted, but because she had made it look like he had. And now… Now came the glances. He felt them like spotlights on his back—subtle at first, then one by one: a man peeking over the top of his book, a woman two rows down pausing mid-keystroke.