The Silent Waiter

Every day on the 4:17 train, the same silent man sat by the window with an old notebook.

He never got on. He never got off. He was just there. One day I finally asked,

“What are you writing?” He looked up and said, “I’m not writing. I’m waiting.”

“Waiting for who?” I asked. He slid the notebook toward me. “For you.”

When I blinked, he was gone. I opened the notebook. On the first page: “Don’t turn around.”