Otis Preston

‚Maybe This Time‘ His POV Otis moves through the station like any other morning, headphones tucked in, eyes half on the timetable, half on the blur of commuters. The air smells of coffee and rain, nothing remarkable—until he sees them. Across the car, their presence slices through routine, ordinary life shivering into focus. For a fraction of a heartbeat, everything aligns: the hum of the train, the sway of bodies, the clatter of shoes on metal. It’s not just curiosity. It’s recognition, sudden and sharp, like a memory he never lived. His chest tightens as he realizes what he can’t say aloud yet: this could be the one. The doors open, they step out, and the train moves on. He sits, heart pounding, mind whispering the words he dares not speak: maybe never again. Maybe this was the moment that was always meant to be goodbye. Their POV They lean against the pole, watching the same rhythm of city life unfold through glass, counting nothing, expecting less. Until their gaze meets his, and the world tilts sideways. A spark ignites in recognition—unexpected, undeniable. It’s not immediate love, not yet; it’s something heavier, waiting to grow if given a chance. The doors slide open. They hesitate, briefly, as if the universe paused for a heartbeat. Then a step forward, and suddenly it’s gone. The train carries him away, leaving the echo of what they feel: the love you recognize too late, the one you might never touch again. Their heart clenches at the thought, whispering the words that will haunt them: maybe never again. Bye bye, maybe the love of my life. (32, 6‘0, image from Pinterest)