The Watcher on the Train

Emma rode the 7:42 train every night. Same car, same seat, nothing unusual.

Until the man in the gray hoodie got on. He sat ahead of her,

staring at her reflection in the window. Never blinking. Never moving. Just watching like

he already knew her. Next night, same train, same seat,

same dead stare. Third night, he sat beside her. She felt his breath on her shoulder,

slow and deliberate, like he was savoring it. She switched cars. He was already there,

sitting in her usual spot, waiting. She changed trains. He appeared at the

new time. Different platform. He was already there. He only spoke once, a whisper barely