I didn’t have a plan.

  Not for the day. Not for the week.

  Not for life.

  Parents gone. Years ago. Still hurts, but not in a sharp way. It’s more like… silence that hums too loud when you’re alone.

  Nia’s got her hands full with that kid. Works two jobs and still texts like everything’s fine.

  Rita? She moved out the second she could. Probably forgot what I sound like unless I’m bleeding.

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  I hate asking them for anything. Makes me feel smaller than I already am. Like I’m stealing seconds from people still trying to breathe.

  Lost my job three weeks before it happened.

  Didn’t even get fired the right way. Just a “budget cut” email and a box of my own stuff.

  No party. No warning. No second chance.

  Friends stopped calling after that. I stopped calling too.

  You know how it is—when you’re not useful, you’re invisible.

  So I drifted. Slept where I could. Ate what I could.

  Didn’t cry about it. Didn’t pray either.

  Felt like I was just borrowing time from a clock I never set.

  Then I saw the kid on the platform.

  He tripped. Train was coming. Nobody moved.

  So I did.

  I didn’t think I was gonna die.

  But I think a part of me knew.

  And maybe…

  just maybe…

  that part didn’t mind.